Broken Lives
by HHHereComesTrouble
Summary: Rather than fix the problems, they never solve them, it makes no sense at all...HHH/Steph, told from different POV's.
1. The Engagement

**Murphy's POV**

_"So, I just really wanted to tell you guys that Jason and I are engaged."_

Those are the words that have changed my life forever… because they were said by my very own mother. She's engaged. Therefore, my life is ruined. How could she be so selfish? She didn't even discuss any of this beforehand with Aurora, Vaughn, or I. The worst part about when she said it was that she expected us to be _happy_ for her. To say that I was angry about the announcement would be an understatement.

Let me tell you a little bit about Jason. He's a brown-haired, blue-eyed, pompous, selfish plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills. He and my mom met backstage at a wrestling live event two years ago. Apparently, he's a "huge fan" of the business. However, I find that extremely hard to believe. Since then, he bought a house in Greenwich to be closer to Mom.

And if you can't tell by now: I hate him. However, Aurora is obsessed with him just because he's got like a trillion dollars, and he's willing to spend every penny on her. Aurora's 14, so her basic necessities in life consist of make-up, shoes, clothes, etc. She adores anyone who can provide her with those things. Vaughn, my 10-year-old sister, is more like me. She isn't as open about her hatred towards Jason, but that doesn't mean she likes him either.

I'm still waiting to hear what my dad has to say about all this.

He and my mom got divorced a little over six years ago. They just started arguing and fighting about everything. They let business decisions affect their personal lives. My mom was always bitter and my dad didn't want to be around that. Long story short: They weren't happy anymore.

My mom was the one who called for divorce. When they tried to explain the whole concept to us and how it would work, my sisters and I just broke down completely. It was traumatizing. I didn't like the idea of my parents living separately. We would have to bounce around between their two houses. And that's just what they were. Houses. No longer would we live in a home. Because my home consists of both my parents, not one.

I've learned to adapt though. We spend every other weekend with Dad, but we're more than welcome to go to his house anytime we want. I choose to take full advantage of that, especially with Jason lurking around here so much. The last thing I want is to be stuck in a conversation with him.

So, here I am now, sitting on the front porch—just a few hours after Mom informed us of her engagement. She probably didn't even notice my reaction or Vaughn's for that matter. Much as I would expect, her and Aurora were too busy shrieking about wedding plans. Anyways, it's probably better for her sake that she didn't see how I reacted. Mom didn't have to see the look of disgust or rage that crossed my face.

"Hey Smurf," my mother says from behind me. Honestly, I don't want to acknowledge her at all.

"Don't call me that," I mutter in annoyance. I don't see her face, but I'm positive she's wearing a confused expression. I hear her sigh as she sits down on the top porch step beside me.

"I always used to call you that when you were little," Mom replies softly. I frown at her words. When I was little. When my parents were happily married. When they would both be at my bedside to tuck me in. When Aurora didn't care what people thought of her. When Vaughn would smile about everything. When there were no custody orders. When my mom still called me Smurf…

We sit there in silence for a moment. I wonder what Mom thinks about at times like these. Does she regret distancing herself from her children? Or maybe she's too oblivious to notice the space that's developed between us.

"Can I go to Dad's tonight?" I ask curiously. This conversation is always interesting.

"Honey, it's almost ten," she replies simply, leaning her head against my shoulder. I pull away, forcing her to look into my eyes. This is how I get what I want. I force her to look me in the eyes—the eyes which remind her so much of my father's. They're that deep hazel color that darkens in color when I'm upset.

"What's time got to do with this?" I ask rudely. Instead of reprimanding me, she sighs. Any normal parent would send me off to my room for such disrespectful behavior. But not Mom. She knows that if she were to do that, it would only make me resent her more.

"Nothing. It's just…your father's probably asleep by now," Mom says with a shrug. The look in my eyes tells her that I'm not buying her lame excuse. Even she knows that Dad doesn't go to bed until sometime around midnight. "Or he's trying to get work done."

"Okay…" I say, looking down at my feet. It's not worth arguing with Mom. I have a counter for everything she says. "If I call him and he says yes, then can I go?"

"Whatever."

Victory. I sprint back into the house, grab the phone, and lock myself in the bathroom. I dial random numbers and say a few short sentences just in case anyone's listening. After several minutes pass, I run back to the porch, where my mom's still sitting. Her head involuntarily spins around at the sound of my noisy footsteps.

"He said yes," I lie, as I always do.

"Get in the car." And like always, she believes me.

One good thing about my parents is that we all have two sets of everything—one at each house. It prevents us from having to constantly pack like most kids with divorced parents do.

The drive over to my dad's house is 11 minutes away—9 if we don't encounter any red lights. I know this because I've timed it many times before. The car rides to Dad's are usually pretty awkward when it's just me and Mom going over there. It usually means I'm mad about something she did. My mother may be oblivious, but I'm pretty sure she knows it's no coincidence that I take off after her "big announcement."

"So I guess you'll just spend the weekend with your father then, right?"

At least she pays attention to certain things. Whenever I go to Dad's on Friday night, then I just stay for the weekend—even if it's not the weekend he's supposed to have us there.

"I guess."

"Do you have your baseball stuff with you?" she asks. But it's not really the type of the question where she cares about my answer. Mom's just glad to be talking to me at all. In her mind, we're having a conversation. In my mind, we're just passing the time.

"It's in Dad's car." I breathe a sigh of relief as we pull up to his familiar driveway. To Mom, it's the only thing about his house that's familiar. In the six years that he's lived here, not once has she dared to step inside.

I open the car door and quickly step out.

"I love you," Mom says quietly. It's almost a whisper. She always does this. If I don't respond back to her, she'll just convince herself it was because I didn't hear her.

_I love you, too._

I'm terrified to say those words to my mother. I don't want her to see through me—to see that I would speak those words with such little truth. Quite frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about Mom anymore. The distance between us is rapidly expanding. Don't get me wrong, I _want _to love her. I'm just not sure if I'm capable of that.

"Bye," I say, shutting the car door quietly. Dad's neighbors often complain about the noise that we kids make. I wave my hand in Mom's direction before eagerly running to the front door. Something about being here just makes me happy. I smirk to myself as I reach out to the doorbell and repeatedly press it until a light switches on.

The door opens and I automatically run into Dad's arms. He does the usual wave to Mom, as she starts the car engine back up.

"Murph, one of these days you're gonna break my damn doorbell," Dad teases, before pushing a lock of blonde hair out of his face.

"That's the plan," I reply arrogantly. He rubs his palm over the top of my head, intentionally messing my dark blond hair up.

I glance out to the street one more time before Dad closes the door. Mom already drove away. I wonder if it hurts her to see me with Dad—to see the type of relationship we have. Does she know that she and I will never be like that ever again? Does she even care?

Pushing thoughts of Mom and Jason aside, I follow my Dad into the kitchen. Carelessly, he pushes himself onto the countertop so he can sit. I pull out a chair from under the table, and sit on it so I'm facing him.

"Let me guess," he begins. "You told your mom that I knew you were coming."

"You know me too well," I say with a shrug.

"What happens when one of these days you show up and I'm not here?" Dad asks, raising an eyebrow. He's testing me. He wants to know how well I have this planned out.

"I'll let myself in with the key I never use, and then text Mom saying you were asleep, which is why you didn't answer the door." He shakes his head, impressed by my plan.

"So how was your day?" he asks.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I reply dryly. He narrows his eyes at me, obviously prompting me to go into further detail. "Like, I'm seriously trying to forget about it." He nods, shooting me that I-know-how-you-feel look.

That's the difference between Mom and Dad. Mom doesn't know my boundaries and she can't tell how I feel about something. About anything, actually. I physically have to spell things out for her. Dad just knows. It's as simple as that. He can look me in the eyes and read me like an open book. He knows when I want to drop the subject, he knows when I want to talk about something, and he knows when I just want to be held like a little girl.

I think now is one of those times I want to be held.

Because Dad's already standing in front of me, allowing me to bury my face in his chest while he wraps his arms around my back.

"I love you," he whispers.

Suddenly, everything's okay again. I'm safe in Dad's arms. No one can hurt me. Not even with some stupid engagement. I can count on him to always be there.

"I love you too." And I'm not terrified.


	2. Family Matters

**Stephanie's POV**

"Mom, can I go with you when you pick out your dress?" Aurora asks.

"Of course, sweetie," I reply simply. I don't want to think about the wedding anymore. Not since last night.

"Okay, so here's what I had in mind…" Aurora continues to ramble about some fantasy dress she's thought up. However, I'm not even slightly paying attention to anything she's saying. My head is overflowing with thoughts of Murphy.

She hates me, even though she'd never admit it. How can she feel that way though? I let her do whatever she wants. I take her to Paul's house all the time, despite the fact that my heart shatters a bit more each time she asks.

The worst part is seeing Murphy and Paul with each other. It triggers this envious sensation creeps up my spine. It all comes back to Paul, the man I took everything from. Our marriage. Our house. Our stuff. Our kids—well, two out of three kids. Maybe him taking Murphy is his way of balancing things out, so to speak. I guess I haven't taken everything.

"Sound good, Mom?" Aurora asks. Crap. I forgot she was talking…

"Sounds great," I reply, vigorously nodding my head. She seems satisfied with my response and exits the kitchen. Now it's just Vaughn and I sitting here alone. She moves her pancake around in the syrup on her plate, letting her wavy blonde hair shield her face.

"You're not hungry, Vaughn?" I ask curiously. The way she's acting worries me to a great extent. This is how it started with Murphy. I won't lose another one of my kids.

"Not really," she answers softly. I push her light hair back behind her ear. I never know who I see when I'm looking at Vaughn—Paul or me. Aurora definitely looks like me, with her long chestnut hair and blue eyes. Murphy (appropriately) looks like Paul. Her short, straight hair is in between brown and blonde. She has his hazel eyes, too. I think Vaughn looks like both of us. Despite having my blue eyes, she has long, wavy blonde hair, much lighter than Murphy's.

I slowly sip from my mug of coffee. Why am I so bad at communicating with my kids?

"What's wrong?" I ask, with my tone full of concern. I never ask Murphy what's wrong, because it's not like she would tell me anyways. Hopefully Vaughn's different.

"Why does Murphy always leave?" Vaughn asks. This is not the question I was hoping for. In fact, I've been trying to avoid it for far too long.

"She likes to spend time with Dad," I answer honestly. I decide not to mention her desire to get away from me.

"Me too," Vaughn replies. "Daddy's house is fun." She giggles to herself, probably at memories from Paul's house.

"We can have fun here, too," I suggest.

"Really?" Vaughn asks with bright eyes.

"Sure. We can do here whatever it is you do at your dad's." My phone buzzes in my pocket. I reluctantly slip it out partially, in order to see the name that comes up. Jason. I have to take this. "Honey, why don't you make a list while I take this phone call?"

"Okay." I walk into the living room, leaving my youngest daughter alone at the kitchen table.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Steph," Jason says.

"Hi."

"You doing anything tonight?" he asks. I peer into the kitchen where Vaughn's slowly writing on the blank piece of paper. "You there, Steph?"

"Yeah. Um, I don't know. I told Vaughn that we could do something fun today."

"Great idea! What time should I come over?"

"Um… can you come in an hour?" I hesitantly reply. I don't remember inviting him.

"Sounds good, babe. I love you."

"Love you too," I say before ending the call.

Vaughn looks up at me as I re-enter the kitchen. The hope formerly in her eyes has diminished to sadness. I know she heard my conversation with Jason, because she folds the piece of paper, hands it to me, and scurries off elsewhere.

"Vaughn!" But I can already hear her thumping footsteps as she runs up the stairs. Unwillingly, I unfold the paper to find that she only wrote down one thing in messy handwriting:

_Spend time with Daddy._

That's the only fun thing she could think of? Out of everything in the world? My head starts to spin, so I take a seat on the chair. My blood is pulsing. No. This can't happen. Not again.

"Mom?" Aurora asks, getting my attention. She's standing beside me, her hair dripping wet, probably from showering. "You don't look so well. What's wrong?" I hand her the piece of paper that I've already crumpled. She opens it and I watch her eyes scan the words.

"Who wrote this?"

"Vaughn."

"What does it mean?" Aurora asks, still confused as to why I'm upset.

"Apparently, it's the only fun thing she can think of."

Before Aurora can react, I stand up and leave the kitchen. Nothing she can say will make me feel better. As I run to my bedroom, I suddenly feel like a little girl again. I'm that little girl who's mad at the world and wants to be alone. My loud footsteps pounding on the staircase remind me of Murphy when she storms off. Maybe she and I are more alike than I'd originally thought.

I try to ignore the urge to open Vaughn's door and speak with her. As much as I want to make things right, I know I'll just screw things up even more. As usual.

Instead, I lie down on my bed and close my eyes. The heavy comforter is pulled up to my chin. I let my mind wander off into a world where my kids still love me and our family isn't drifting apart…

"Steph?"

It's Jason. He lightly shakes my shoulder, disrupting my peaceful slumber. I mumble incoherently before letting my eyelids flutter open. He's lying next to me on top of the covers.

"Hi." As I say the word, I realize my throat is incredibly dry. How long was I asleep for?

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he whispers, brushing his lips against my cheek.

"When did you get here?"

"Like an hour ago," Jason replies with a shrug.

"And you let me sleep this whole time?" I ask incredulously.

"Well, I was talking to Aurora for a bit. And then I dropped her off at the mall with her friend."

"You didn't think to inform me of this first?" Not being a parent himself, Jason doesn't understand what he puts me through when he just randomly takes my kids places without my knowledge of it.

"I was going to, but you just looked so beautiful sleeping here," he says with a wink. I can feel the heat rush to my face and there's no doubt my cheeks are stained with a bright blush.

"What about Vaughn?"

"She's in her room," Jason answers, obviously uninterested in what my youngest child is up to. Although he doesn't outright admit it, Jason definitely favors Aurora over my other daughters. It's a bit frustrating at times.

"I should check on her," I mutter to myself, starting to get out of bed. Jason grabs hold of my wrist preventing me from going anywhere. He rolls over so that his body is hovering over mine.

"She's fine," Jason assures me, pressing his lips to my neck. I moan has he moves his mouth down to my chest. His soft lips make my skin tingle with pleasure and desire. I work on unbuttoning his shirt as he bunches my white dress above my waist. This is just what I need right now—an escape from everything. As our mouths fuse together, I can't ignore that feeling of guilt for what happened with Vaughn.

Jason doesn't sense my uneasiness, however. This is wrong on so many levels. While having sex with my fiancé, the man who's supposed to be the love of my life, the only thing on my mind is my kids. Maybe it's a sign—a sign that I have my priorities in life mixed up.

* * *

**Murphy's POV**

I lazily let my cleats fall to the ground as I walk through the front door, with Dad trailing behind me. After shutting the door, he glances down at the patches of dirt on my baseball pants.

"Those things used to be white," he notes, which causes a smile to cross my face. "Go wash up, kiddo. I don't need you turning every piece of furniture in this house orange."

"Yes, sir," I reply with a salute. Dad shakes his head in amusement as I charge up the stairs. I can only wonder what Mom, Aurora, and Vaughn are up to now. Surely, Aurora doesn't miss me around the house. In her eyes, I'm worthless and disappointing. It wasn't always that way. She used to like me, from what I remember. Everything started changing right around the time my parents were going through the divorce process. At such a young age, Aurora's opinion of me completely changed. In fact, her whole opinion of life in general changed. Suddenly, the world starting revolving around Aurora Levesque.

After showering and changing into cleaner clothes, I head down to the kitchen, where the smoke alarm's going off. Dad's using an oven mitt to push away smoke that's coming from a pot on the stove. The whole room smells of burnt rubber.

The first time this happened, Aurora and I were freaking out. I remember crying and screaming that Daddy would burn the house down. He just laughed at us. Now, this is kind of a regular thing. You would think by now he would know how long to put food on the stove for, but I guess he'll just never learn.

"Want me to order a pizza?" I offer, already heading for the phone.

"Please do," Dad laughs. "I swear I didn't even overcook it this time." Yeah, well he said that the last time. And the time before that.

"What were you trying to make?" I ask, fingering through a stack of phone numbers.

"How should I know?"

"Dad, you're an idiot," I tease, before making the phone call.

After hanging up, I notice my father leaning forward against the counter, absently staring out the kitchen window. I catch him doing this every now and then. Maybe he's going through the same thing that Mom's going through with me. You see, Dad and Aurora aren't exactly on the best terms either. Aurora's so used to being spoiled by Jason and seems to think her self-centered behavior can carry over to Dad's house.

Aurora's the only one who doesn't spend extra time at Dad's house. She spends the "mandatory" two days and even then, she can't wait to leave. Their fights are pretty awful. They'll scream at each other from across the room, while Aurora starts throwing around personal insults. The moment she starts talking about Mom is where Dad draws the line. He'll back down, because quite honestly, he doesn't want to hear Aurora blame him for their divorce.

That's another reason why Aurora and I don't get along well. I side with Dad and she sides with Mom. And Vaughn just stays out of the fighting for the most part. None of us would even dare to try and drag her in anyways. There has to be one innocent member of this screwed up family.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about you," he answers simply.

"Me? What about me?" I ask curiously.

"Yesterday. When you were upset," he specifies.

"Oh," is all that comes out of my mouth.

"Ready to talk about it with your old man?" Well, I have to talk to somebody about it. And Mom is definitely not an option. I might as well make it short and to the point. I take a deep breath before letting the words roll of my tongue.

"Mom's engaged."

A flash of something goes through my father's eyes, but it disappears. My heart wants to believe it was sadness. But now he's staring at me nodding.

"To the doctor guy?"

"He's not a doctor. He's a plastic surgeon," I correct him. Dad shrugs.

"Same difference."

"No. Doctors save you from diseases. Plastic surgeons save you from looking old and droopy," I clarify. He laughs at my comment, even though I'm not joking.

"Well, you should be happy for your mom," Dad suggests. Is he serious right now?

"Why should I be?" I snap. Dad seems taken aback by my harsh tone.

"She's still your mom, Murphy. No matter what happens."

"That doesn't mean I should accept her asshole of a fiancé!" I shout.

"But you can be happy for her," Dad says, remaining pretty calm. If he says that one more time, I will scream.

"Well, I wouldn't have told you if I knew that you would side with _her_."

"I would have found out anyway!" Dad's screaming now. We don't normally fight like this. My heart's beating in my throat, but I can't ignore my instinct to yell back.

"How so?"

"Believe it or not Murph, but your mom and I do talk to each other," he says, as if it's some big secret. That's when I lose it.

"Well, you should stop talking to that bitch."

Dad's eyes look directly into mine. He's just as surprised as I am at the words that just escaped my mouth. He's burning a hole through me with his furious stare.

"Go to your room," he orders. Maybe I'm no different than Aurora.


	3. The Fiancé

Been a while since an update for this story, huh? If anyone's still reading it, I really do hope you enjoy :-) Leave your thoughts and maybe I can crank out a few more chapters in the next week or so...

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Although most people despise Mondays, I've grown pretty fond of them over the years. It's back to the office for me—something in life that I'm actually successful at. And even if I do screw up now and then, it doesn't change the fact that I'm still good at my job. It's always waiting for me when I come back the next day.

I wish I could say the same for my kids. This whole situation with Vaughn has been stressing me out as of late. She hasn't said a single word to me since Saturday morning when I bailed on her. Jason keeps reassuring me that she is just going through some phase. Slowly, it will fade away. It has to. Right? But I can't push aside my gut instinct telling me that this isn't a phase. Possibly, it's something that has gradually been building up over time. And now that I've finally noticed it, the change could very well be permanent.

The thought of losing another one of my baby girls is killing me. I can't even remember the last time Murphy and I engaged in a normal, friendly conversation with one another. I'm almost positive it was before the divorce. She started slipping away from me at about the same time Paul did. Losing her was like losing a piece of myself. Because that's what Murphy is and will always be. No matter what happens, there's no denying the fact that she's still a piece of me. My own flesh and blood.

My tired eyes fall to stare at one of the picture frames on the desk. The word "family" is elegantly etched into the bottom of it. But the actual photo is what really has me drawn to it. The photo was taken around Christmas time, probably eight years ago. Paul's arm is hanging casually around my waist, while his other one supports a two-year-old Vaughn who's propped up on his broad shoulders. She's wearing a toothy grin and her short blonde locks are pulled into messy pigtails. Meanwhile, Aurora and Murphy are standing in front of us with their arms hanging around each other's shoulders lovingly. It's weird to think that the sisterly bond they once shared has now vanished to nothing. We're all smiling. Especially me. And the way I'm gawking up at Paul almost makes me wish things between us could have been better. We were so in love. We truly were.

A solitary tear trickles down my cheek as my thumb lightly grazes over the photo.

No, no, no. This is all wrong. I should be happy about what's coming, not mourning over what's long gone. The huge, shimmering ring on my finger is a constant reminder of that. Jason is my everything now. My heart and soul. Yet despite all the love I feel for him, my heart still longs for something else.

My head involuntarily shoots up at the sound of the door swinging ajar. I push the frame back to its original spot—in the back behind the more recent photos.

"Hey Dad," I greet him as he approaches my desk. He's fumbling through a pile of disorganized papers and his glasses are pushed all the way down his nose. Obviously he's come to discuss business.

"Steph, we're having a last minute meeting before the rest of us fly out to the show tonight. I know you're not on the road lately, but I'd still like you to attend," he says. My father can make any statement sound like the most important thing in the world. His voice is always so powerful and intimidating.

"When is it?"

"Ten minutes. It's where we normally hold the production meetings. Don't be late," he warns in a tone that's supposed to be joking. But I know his policies inside and out when it comes to tardiness. He's highly intolerable of it, no matter how good of a reason you have.

"I won't," I reply quietly. He glances up from the papers and furrows his brow in confusion.

"Are you alright, Steph?" Now it's my turn to wear a perplexed expression. I tilt my head to one side before he further explains what he's getting at. "You don't seem like yourself lately, that's all." Truth be told, I don't know when the last time was that I felt like myself.

"I'm fine. I promise."

"It's not Jason, is it? Because if it is— " he begins, but I cut off his voice.

"It's not Jason, Daddy! Nothing's wrong, okay? I'm perfectly fine," I snap in annoyance.

"Are you sure you're not rushing into this marriage, Steph? You've only been seriously dating for a year and a half…" Doesn't my father understand that I'm an adult? I can make my own decisions. He doesn't need to question every move I make.

"Dad. Look I know you're only looking out for my best interests, but I know what I'm doing. If I really need your advice, I'll come to you on my own." He nods silently before looking down at his gold wrist watch.

"Five minutes, Stephanie. Don't be late," Dad says before turning around and exiting my office. I roll my eyes at his strict reminder, but thank my lucky stars that he dropped the subject of Jason. For some reason, I don't like discussing him with my father. Dad always doubts Jason and was shocked the moment he discovered I was involved with a doctor of all people. Plus, if my father had it his way, I'd still be with Paul.

To the surprise of many, Paul and Dad are still on the best of terms. And Dad absolutely adores everything about my ex-husband. In his eyes, Paul is the all-around perfect man. He even went as far as trying to "talk some sense into me" when I informed him that we filed for divorce. But his single opinion wouldn't undo the damage that Paul and I had done during our time spent married.

Several moments later, I'm seated at the long meeting table watching the company executives pour into the room. Some of them are gasping for breath as they pass through the door, likely from sprinting to make it on time. Normally that would be me. But today I wouldn't have an excuse for being late.

I notice that Paul sits down in the chair just to the left of me—the one closest to my father. He smoothes back his hair that he's wearing in a ponytail, as his eyes are fixated on the phone in his hand. I wonder who he's texting. One of the kids, maybe? He briefly glances up, yet still fails to notice my presence, which is slightly irritating. I just want to get the awkward, courteous "Hi, how are you?" out of the way, so that I can move on with my day.

"Hey Stephanie," he says casually, as our eyes meet.

"Hello Paul." I swear that he looks down at my ring, but can't tell for sure. Did Murphy tell him about the engagement? Knowing her, she probably couldn't wait to rant about me to her favorite parent.

"How have you been?" He flashes me a small smile, and I can't stop my mind from thinking back to the photo on my desk.

"Um, good…I guess," I respond uneasily.

"I guess?" Paul questions with a raised brow.

"Never mind that," I say quickly. "I'm good. Just good. What about you?"

"Couldn't be better." Should I take offense to that in some way? Who the hell even knows anymore…

"Cool." Wow, what a lame response by me. Good job, Steph. Way to go.

"So you're engaged, I hear." We both glance down to the ring on my finger—the same finger that used to wear the wedding ring given to me by Paul. I awkwardly nod my head up and down.

"Yeah. Did Murphy mention it?"

"Who else would?" Paul asks jokingly. His hazel eyes twinkle before he directs his attention to my father who's standing at the front of the room. I wonder if he's mad or upset with me on the inside. Maybe this is something he should have heard directly from me, rather than through our somewhat nosy daughter. I catch myself glancing in his direction from time to time as the meeting drones on. Sometimes I wish I'd catch him staring back at me.

* * *

**Aurora's POV**

I carelessly fling my backpack to the ground and head straight for the kitchen. It's typically the only place anyone hangs out at during the evening. As I reach the doorway, I feel three sets of eyes stare at me heavily. Mom rises from her seat, with one of her hands running through the hair on top of her head.

"Where were you, Aurora?" she asks sternly. Behind her, sitting at the kitchen table are Murphy and Vaughn. I can sense that Murphy is anticipating my punishment for staying out past curfew. Vaughn just absently pushes around her food on her plate, not really interested at all.

"With my friends," I answer, with a casual shrug. Normally Mom isn't this… high strung. She doesn't lecture, correct, reprimand, or even punish us. Everyone just does their own thing, so to speak. But sometimes I still don't understand what the big deal is about bending the rules just a bit. One little tweak isn't going to get anyone killed for Christ's sake. I plop down in the available seat next to Vaughn.

"It's 10 pm, Aurora. You promised me you'd be home an hour ago."

"One hour. Big deal," I mutter.

"You'd be surprised at all the things that can go wrong in just one hour," Murphy chimes in. I shoot her a wicked glare. Why are younger siblings so nosy? It's not like Murphy knows anything at all about teenage life. She doesn't get me. She doesn't know anything about me.

"Shut up, you little—" Mom silences me with her hand.

"Aurora. I'll take care of it," she assures me, before turning to Murphy. "Murphy, if it doesn't involve you, stay out of it." I suppress an eye roll. If there's anything Mom is horrible at, it's disciplining Murphy. The girl thinks she can prance around, act however she wants, and that everyone will still pity her. Well my sympathy is something she'll never have. If she attained a more positive outlook on life, maybe she wouldn't be so bitter all the time. "And as for you," Mom begins, pointing her finger in my direction. "When I give you a specific curfew, I want you home by that time. Not an hour later. Not two hours later. Understand?"

"Since when are you the disciplinary parent?" I spit out, but almost immediately regret saying.

"She makes a point," Murphy agrees. After Mom lets out a long sigh, there's a dead silence between the four of us. The only sound that echoes in the still kitchen is Vaughn's fork scraping against her plate.

"Aurora, all I ask is that you get home on time. It worries me to know your wandering the streets at this late hour."

"Alright, Mom," I reply with a nod of my head. Something's obviously got my mother in a bad mood this evening, but I can't put my finger on what it is. She concerns me lately. Being engaged and all, she should be as ecstatic as ever. But that's clearly not the case. Something's bugging her. And I'm determined to find out. Unfortunately, I can't do that with my sisters around.

"Vaughn, are you all finished eating?" Mom asks sweetly. Too sweet. Lately, she's been acting super odd around Vaughn. Ever since that thing she wrote down about only having fun at Dad's house, which I strongly disagree with.

I see my father every other weekend, and during those times, he seems to think he owns me, or that he suddenly knows what's best for me. Well, he doesn't. Dad can't comprehend the fact that I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not _his_ little girl anymore. That truth is pretty evident in our fights, which are worsening with each visit. We can't stand to be around each other. We'll just end up screaming at each other and seeing who can push the other to their limit. It's slightly screwed up if you ask me. I mean, aren't the two people who got divorced the ones who are supposed to hate each other? He's still my father, and I'm still his daughter, so I'm not really sure what the problem is between us.

The ringing doorbell breaks me from my thoughts.

"I'll get it!" I yell, already running to the door. Anything to get away from the uneasiness among my family members. Pushing the curtain aside, I peer through the long vertical window beside the front door. Recognizing the familiar face, I gladly open the door and extend my arms for a hug.

"Aurora, sweetheart! How's my girl?" Jason asks, flashing his teeth in a smile.

"Just fine," I giggle as he releases me from the embrace.

"That's good. Is your mom home?"

"Yeah, she's just in the kitchen. I'll lead the way," I offer. He sends me a smile as we walk side by side down the corridor to our destination. Mom's eyes widen a bit as she spots her fiancé.

"Jason, what are you doing here?" she asks. Somehow, I feel that's an improper way to greet the man you'll be marrying soon. Jason slowly approaches her and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her in for a soft, languish kiss. They pull apart though, at the sound of a plate being slammed down in the sink. Murphy. I should have known! Leave it to her to spoil a beautiful moment. She stomps out of the kitchen. Any form of affection between Mom and Jason sends her off the deep end. I won't be surprised if she comes back downstairs and demands to go to Dad's house. Hey, I'm all for that idea.

"So you're not pleased to see your fiancé?" Jason teases with a pout.

"I am. I just thought you were in California for the rest of the week. That's all," Mom replies. I take a seat back at the table and notice Vaughn's disappeared as well. I pick at the dish of food that's been left for me and listen in on the conversation.

"Well, the trip got cancelled and I thought I'd spend the evening with my stunning bride," he says, before looking over to me and flipping a wink. "And her gorgeous daughter, as well."

"I'm flattered," I say, holding my cheeks as if I were actually blushing. It's easy to see how Mom fell for the guy. He's such a charmer, and not bad looking if I do say so myself. For me, the wedding can't come soon enough. My family will finally be whole again with Jason in our lives. Maybe Murphy would move out permanently to live with Dad and somehow convince Vaughn to go with her. Then only Mom, Jason, and I would be left as a perfect, little family. Our happily ever after.


	4. Envy, Pills, and Influences

Finally updated this fic! Lots of dialogue, but I'm slowly trying to further this story along. You'll notice that each character starts to develop more...demons. As of right now, there are 3 endings I have in mind. One's pretty happy (kind of against this one), one's bittersweet, and one is just...not happy at all.

Let me know your thoughts in the reviews. Also, what POVs you wanna see in the next chapter?

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Ms. McMahon."

My head involuntarily jolts up from the file it's buried in at the sound of my name. Standing in the partially ajar office door is one of the blonde receptionists from the central part of the floor level. Her piercing, green eyes fail to mask her intimidation, as she sports an apologetic smile.

"Er, I hate to be a bother, but you have a visitor waiting out here," she stutters uneasily.

"Alright. I'll be out there in a sec."

In all honesty, I'm a bit relieved for an excuse to be drawn away from my work today. My concentration and focus is just aimed everywhere else, while my mind is clouded with worry. Before rising to my feet, I shut the open laptop sitting on my desk and guide a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I smooth down my black pencil skirt as my heels click against the tiled flooring of the winding corridor. A few people nod or smile courteously in my direction as I pass them by. Finally, I reach the open area, which relatively resembles a hotel lobby. I'm about to step towards the front desk, but I freeze dead in my tracks upon hearing the familiar voice.

"Stephanie!"

Oh, God. Please no.

I force my eyelids to close tightly and pray this is just some strange figment of my imagination. But as the footsteps draw nearer to my standing position, I'm forced to open them and spin on my heel to face him.

"Hi Jason," I respond, releasing a heavy exhale which comes across as a sigh.

"Surprise!"

Jason outstretches his arms for an embrace and pulls me in close to his chest. It's not that I don't love him; it's just…not his place to show up unexpectedly at my job. This is supposed to be the one sacred place where I can detach myself from the real world and push my personal life problems aside.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper blatantly.

"Taking you out to lunch, of course," he says, with a shrug. "You could at least pretend to be happy." For some reason, that remark sends an overwhelming wave of guilt washing over me.

"I _am _happy," I respond in defense. Jason cocks an eyebrow disbelievingly. "It's just…I've got a lot of work to get done this afternoon. And you know how Dad is. I'll be carrying my head home in my hands if I don't get it all done."

"Well then you…" His voice trails off and his eyes roll dryly. They seem to be locked on something behind me. I subtly spin my head to see what the source of disruption is that's got my fiancé all riled up. Then I spot it without difficulty.

Paul. He's casually strolling by with his eyes fixated on a stack of papers. He's whistling a tune through his parted lips, but stops instantly. Without a doubt, he can sense Jason and me staring at him intensely and lifts his head. His hazel eyes feel tender and warm as they meet with mine.

"Hey, Steph…Jason," he says, sending respective nods to both of us.

"Hey, Paul," I answer automatically. As soon as he's walked out of sight, Jason lets out a snicker of disapproval.

At least my ex-husband has the decency and maturity to acknowledge us both with polite mannerisms. To my surprise, Paul has always been nothing but collected, even in the most uncomfortable of situations that I seem to throw him into. When he and Jason were introduced a little over a year ago at one of the girl's birthday parties, Paul was the one who demonstrated rational behavior, while Jason moped and whined—much like he's doing so now.

"What is _he_ doing here, Stephanie?"

"Jason," I begin, already not pleased by where this conversation's headed. "He works here. You know that, babe."

"But why is he lurking around in your department? Hasn't he got other women to hit on besides you?"

"Hit on?" I stifle back a laugh at his ridiculous accusation.

"Yes, 'hit on.' Don't think I didn't notice the way he was eyeing you up, Steph. And the way he said your name," Jason explains, rolling his eyes once again as he recalls the memory.

"How exactly did Paul say my name?"

"With certain intentions."

Leave it to Jason's jealousy and childish words to turn my day to shit. I decide to let the discussion die down there, before things truly get out of hand. After all, we're in the office and just his presence is making a scene enough as it is. Co-workers keep sending us glares or if they're walking in pairs, they suddenly stop to whisper to one another.

"Maybe we can go to lunch after all. I'll just stay at work later, today." Even though I'll probably regret my decision as the evening hours approach, it's pretty much the only option I've got now, with the foul mood I've put my fiancé in.

"I knew you'd see it my way, sweetheart." Jason's tone is almost arrogant as he slips his fingers through mine. They're cold and hardly gentle, but I manage to suppress a whimper. We stroll to the elevator in utter silence.

* * *

**Aurora's POV**

"Hello?" I shout as I lock the front door behind me.

When there's no response and my voice echoes through the apparently vacant house, I toss my backpack to the side. It crashes to the carpet, but I ignore it and head straight for the staircase. My shoes barely connect with the ground for half a second at a time as I pick up a light sprint.

My forehead breaks out in slight sweat as I reach the top of the stairs. Whether it's from exerting my energy or nervousness, I cannot tell. However, my guess would be the second option because I'm not breathing heavily at all.

Nonetheless, I peek into a few rooms to ensure the coast is clear before heading towards the average-sized bathroom adjacent to my bedroom.

I double-check the lock on the door to make sure no one can somehow barge in. In my reflection on the mirror, I notice the smeared mascara around my eyes and wipe at it with the tip of my index finger. Some of it disappears, but I ultimately decide that my make-up can wait until later on. If I don't get this done now, I might not get the opportunity to do it at all today.

Hurriedly, I pull open the medicine cabinet and scan through the various labeled bottles and items. My eyes settle on the capsule deceivingly marked "Advil"—the type that only I use. Thankfully, my sisters stay away from all of my personal medications, for this one is capable of much more than curing a lingering headache.

My stomach turns in remembrance of what happened last week when I utilized this particular medicine. Luckily, there was a flu outbreak at school and I was successful in convincing Mom that my nausea was just from a virus I'd picked up. She easily agreed with me, while I spent an entire day puking my guts out and stumbling to hide my dizziness.

"You have to do this," I command myself in the mirror. "It's the only way. It might hurt now, but the end result will make it all worthwhile."

And after listening to my own persuasive pep talk, I maneuver my fingers to pop off the protective top to the capsule and angle it so one pill falls into the palm of my hand. My eyes close as I grip the pill between two fingers and place it on my tongue.

Without having a chance to once again reconsider my decision, I sip from a cup of water on the sink countertop and feel the rounded substance glide down my throat.

* * *

**Paul's POV**

"So how'd you get the old goat to give you the night off?"

"I didn't have to do anything. He just gave it to me," I reply simply, taking a sip from my glass. Sean leans back in his chair and sends me a smirk.

"That's weird. Did you do something to piss him off?"

"Not that I know of," I answer honestly.

Within the past year or so, Sean Waltman and I have become extremely close friends again; not that we weren't close before. But with his new position as a travel agent for the company, we've been spending a lot of time together—whether it's at headquarters or FCW to scout new talent. Plus with Shawn and Kevin both tending to their own families and careers, it's kind of nice to have Sean around to keep me company during my dull days.

"Did you do something to piss off Stephanie?" I glare at him for even going there, and he holds his hands up in defense. "Okay, okay. I know you wouldn't dare piss off the bitch."

"Look, she's not that ba—" I fail to finish my statement, as Sean cuts me off abruptly.

"_Not that bad?_ You're too easy on her."

"What do you mean?"

"She's your ex-wife, for crying out loud!" Sean explains, throwing his hands above his head for emphasis. "You act like she's an old pal from high school! This is the bitch who took everything from you…the house, the kids...your life!" His blunt words make me cringe. Mostly because everything he says reeks with the truth. The stupid, fucking truth.

"I know, Sean. I know," I respond with a sigh. "It's just, I want to be civil with her. For our kids."

"I get that, Paul. However, you need to stop pretending that you're okay with all the shit she does," Sean advises me sternly. I run my fingers through my hair before meeting eyes with him again. He readjusts the black bandana on his head. "Didn't she bring Mr. Beverly Hills to the office today?"

"Yeah," I scoff.

"What the fuck was that about?"

"I don't know, dude. Something about that guy just rubs me the wrong way," I admit openly. "It's like…when he's around, I just feel like everything's off."

"And you have every right to! Yet for some strange reason, you seem to have the patience of a saint when it comes to Steph and her happiness."

I part my lips to respond, but we're interrupted by the waitress who sets down our plates of food on the table. After asking if we need anything else, she leaves us alone. By now, I've already lost my train of thought. And it appears Sean is more interested in the burger he's digging into than wherever our conversation was headed.

"I've been thinking about talking to the judge," I say with a sigh. My appetite's subsided for a bit, so I figured I could get my loyal friend to weigh in with his opinion on the circumstances.

"Judge?" Sean asks, wiping his face with a napkin. "For what?"

"The custody arrangement. Murphy pretty much stays at my house all the time anyways. In her words, Steph's place is hell on earth. So I figured maybe she could just stay with me for the most part, and with Steph whenever she wants to, _if_ she wants to."

"That's good. What about the other kids?"

"Well, I can't speak for Vaughn. As far as I know, her and Steph get along just fine. But she gets along good with me, too." I pause and let my shoulders fall as I sigh. "Aurora, on the other hand, will probably be pushing for a no contact order between her and I. She can't stand me." My head bows down a bit and my loose locks of hair shield my face like a curtain.

"Hey, don't worry about her too much. She's like, what, 14? It's a teenage girl thing. I'm positive she'll grow out of it," Sean reassures me. Although his explanation sounds reasonable and valid, I still question whether or not Aurora and I will ever be the way we used to be. Once upon a time, I was the best daddy in the world. In her eyes, I could do no wrong. She was my little munchkin and I was the person she looked up to above everybody else.

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will, man. Trust me. Unfortunately for you though, she's got a bit too much of her mother in her." I nod in agreement.

I think we've all still got a little too much Stephanie in us.


	5. The D Word

**Stephanie's POV – Six Years Ago**

Somehow I resist the urge to cry. I hold back the hot tears that are on the verge of trickling down my cheeks. I plaster an unconvincing smile on my face and mentally prepare myself for the imminent situation.

As I gaze into the long vanity mirror in the master bedroom, I feel like I am staring into an endless black hole of failure. Every mistake and shameful thing from my past is lingering there. Laughing.

I never thought my marriage would end like this…or at all, for that matter. I mean, I always assumed that if it did end, there would be some dramatic finish. The final blow. Whether I would have preferred it to be cheating or some other revelation, I'm not quite sure.

I know this sounds terrible and utterly unrealistic, but I would prefer anything else. I called for the...divorce. (It's still difficult for me to even fathom that this is what it has come to.) We were just arguing all the time. Every simple conversation would turn to shit and ultimately end with one of us spending the night in the guest bedroom. And then in the morning, we would make up, apologize, and pretend it never happened.

But, right there, lies the issue. Those arguments _did _happen. Those fights _did _happen. I _did_ sleep alone for a countless number of nights.

Despite trying to be oblivious to our deteriorating love, we made it work for a while. We made an effort to not fight in front of the kids. But they still would lie awake at night to hear their parents screaming and cursing at each other.

One of the worst factors in the whole scenario was that neither Paul nor I ever made a civil attempt to try and fix things. We let our petty problems escalate and form a wedge between us. I found myself praying he'd be stuck late at the office, just so I didn't have to see him. I would go to bed earlier than usual and pretend to be asleep, while he slipped under the sheets beside me.

It was sort of a bittersweet routine we'd become accustomed to. We didn't need to see or talk to each other, but being near one another was perfectly fine. Although it was probably the unhealthiest way to deal with our issues, we did it anyways. I can even recall a night where he'd pressed his lips to my temple, and—assuming I was asleep—hushed something softly against my ear.

"_You're my best friend."_

My eyes remained shut tightly until I heard the mattress creak under his weight, as he rolled over.

It wasn't even an "I love you" or a "We'll get through this." He told me I was his best friend, and somehow, in that moment, it meant more to me than any other words could. Not once did I ever bring up the situation with him though.

Unfortunately, that was my last good memory of Paul Levesque. Sometimes I wonder if he said that to me because he knew the end was drawing near. Almost one month exactly after that night, I filed for a divorce.

When I brought the papers to his attention, there was no fighting. No yelling. No cursing. Just a bitter, somber silence. We'd spent almost a year living in that long, brutal storm. And then it was finally over, just like that. Sure, there was damage and destruction caused along the way, but at least it was over, right?

Now that I clear my head a bit, I remember not one word was spoken during that confrontation. I simply handed him the legal documentation, and he nodded at me with an unreadable expression. I find it extremely unacceptable that that was one of our only (and last) civil meetings.

That brings me here, waiting for my soon-to-be ex-husband to come home so we can explain our situation to the girls. I don't think I'll be able to bear seeing the looks on their faces when we reveal the news to them. Because not only am I giving up on my marriage to Paul, but I'm giving up on our daughters in a way as well. I'm tearing apart the loving family that every child on this planet deserves. But while I'm the initiator of all this, Paul just sits back and let it happen. He never denied my request for divorce nor even tried to reassure me that we'd work it out. So I guess he wants it to end just as much as I do.

"Hey."

I hear him step through the bedroom door, but don't spin around to look at him. Instead, I continue to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I pretend to focus on adjusting my earrings. I don't want Paul to get some sneaking suspicion that I'm actually reflecting back on the past year of our lives together.

"Hey," I murmur. If I speak too loudly, I fear it will come across as a croak. Therefore, it will come across as sadness. I, Stephanie Lev—er, McMahon, am not sad.

Paul steps behind me and meets eyes with me, only through our reflections though. He's still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks from work, but his necktie has been loosened and clearly fumbled with. That's Paul's nervous tick—fumbling with accessories. Ties, watches, wedding rings. His nervousness doesn't comfort or relieve me though. One of us needs to have confidence for this, and it most definitely will not be me. He uncomfortably stuffs his hands in his pockets and clears his throat.

"So… are you ready?" For a brief second his eyes are open pretty wide, and it is then that I notice the red puffiness. What the hell kind of person am I? I begin to wonder if this is really the best thing for everyone. I notice he's still awaiting my answer, and spit out the thing sitting on the tip of my tongue.

"Yeah."

Paul nods, almost identical to the way he did when I handed him the divorce papers. He leads the way out the bedroom door, down the winding staircase, and into the living room, where our daughters are lounging lazily. They're eight, six, and four years old. Their little faces brighten with excitement.

Murphy rises from her seated position on the plush carpet and walks over in between Paul and I. Her tiny fingers slip through mine and I realize she's joined her other hand with Paul's. He and I exchanged bewildered glances as she leads us to the couch.

"Mommy, Daddy, you're with each other," Aurora states, from the opposite side of the room. She flashes us a crooked-teeth grin.

"Yeah, well, um…" Paul stutters awkwardly. His jumbled sentence is cut off when Murphy gestures for us to both sit down on the sofa. Its limited space forces Paul and I to almost squeeze against each other just so we can both fit. Through the material of my cotton shirt, I can feel the heat radiating from his large bicep. I feel nauseous. His clammy palms rest on his jean clad thighs. All three girls stare at us intently. Aurora approaches us slowly, places one of her hands on each of our knees and smiles brightly.

"Wait here, guys! I'll be right back!"

Their enthusiasm and uplifted spirits are sure to make this evening much more difficult than we'd anticipated. I turn to Paul to ask him how we should do this, but before I can, Aurora comes skipping back in the living room with her hands behind her back.

"Give this to Mommy, Daddy!" She holds out a single red rose clasped between her fingers and Paul reluctantly grabs it. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him twirl the stem in his fingertips. Aurora motions for him to give it to me, and he passes it to the side without making eye contact. I know he desperately desires to get this over with, while not breaking our children's hearts in the process.

I hold the flower in my hands and stare at it remorsefully.

"Now you're supposed to say 'Thank you,' Mom," Murphy whispers loudly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he says with a sigh. "Look, girls, there's something we all need to talk about, okay?"

Aurora and Murphy shake their heads defiantly as they slowly back away. Vaughn watches her old sisters quizzically and then mimics their actions.

"Not now, Daddy. We can all talk in the morning. You and Mommy need _alone_ time," Aurora stresses with a wink. The nausea worsens in the pit of my stomach and I drop the rose. I wish I could read Paul's mind right now, or at least communicate telepathically with him. Damn it, I knew we should have rehearsed this.

"No, no. It's fine, girls. We're going to have a little family time right now."

"I don't think so," Aurora chirps. "You need to be alone. Then you can kiss and we won't have to watch." The girls giggle in unison.

"We're not going to kiss, Aurora." I wonder where the hell Paul's going with this because judging by the look on our girls' faces, they'll be crushed if he doesn't do this gently. Hell, they'll be crushed no matter what. They'd obviously set this whole shebang up with high hopes that it would make Paul and I stop fighting.

"You have to, though!" she whines.

"No, we don't have to do anything. Girls, we're…" His voice trails off.

"We're getting a divorce."

Paul turns to me gratefully, but we're soon both staring at our kids, who seem to have difficulty taking in the news. Aurora's arms are folded over her chest and her eyes are welling with tears. Murphy looks up at Aurora for some sort of advice on how to react. Vaughn slowly steps forward and places her tiny hands on Paul's big ones that are joined in his lap. Her blue eyes twinkle in confusion.

"What's divorce, Daddy?"

Her sweet, innocent, four-year old voice is what breaks me. I wipe at my misty eyes and listen to Paul's explanation. Bless him for having the strength to do what I can't do. It's not fair that I'm the one who called for this to happen, yet he's the one dealing with the fallout.

"Sweetheart, divorce is when Mommies and Daddies don't live together anymore. They live separately so that they get along better." It's a watered down version of the cruel reality, but it still seems to sadden Vaughn.

"So…we won't all live together anymore?"

"No, sweetie. But you girls will still get to see both me and Mommy. And there won't be any more fighting, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

Aurora steps forward with a tortured look on her face.

"Why?" she shouts. "Why, Dad? Mom? Why are you doing this? Don't you want to stop fighting and be happy?"

"This is the only way for that to happen, Rory."

"Mommy! Do something! It's not fair!" She turns to me, and her voice is cracking as she sobs. My heart sinks down to my stomach.

"Honey. Baby girl, please look at me." I move my hand to rest upon her hot, wet cheek. She tilts her chin down. "None of this is your fault. I want you to always remember that. Daddy and I just weren't meant to be married, and that happens sometimes with people. But that doesn't change the fact that we love you more than anything in the world."

"But I want you to love Daddy, too."

I briefly glance over at Paul, who has let his emotions get the better of him as well. He sniffles and wipes at his face with his long-sleeved shirt.

"I _do_ love Daddy. I'll always love him," I explain, automatically interlocking fingers with him. "He gave me my beautiful, wonderful babies and for that, I will love him forever. I can never thank him enough for you girls. You're my entire life, and everything I live for."

"And I love Mommy, too. Things will just be better this way, kiddos. Can you try to understand that?"

They all nod in unison, slowly. Paul releases my hand. A solemn silence washes over us as a chapter of our life ends and a new one begins.

* * *

**Aurora's POV – Present Day**

I clutch my stomach with one hand and hold my long locks of hair behind me with the other, as I lean over the toilet. The vomit burns my throat before leaving through my mouth. The bathroom echoes with the sound of my gagging.

"You're sick again?"

I turn around sharply and notice Murphy rubbing at her eyes, lingering in the doorway.

"Don't you knock, you little brat?" I snap, as I make it to my feet. I wipe at my lips with the backside of my hand.

"Well, I heard you practically dying in here and thought I would come check to see if I needed to make funeral arrangements yet."

"Go to hell, Murphy."

"Anything's better than this place. Now that I think about it, hell sounds like a nice place to be. No you…no Mom…no Jason. Do you think I can book a flight for tomorrow morning?"

"By all means, please do," I retort nastily. She rolls her eyes before turning to leave. Before she can shut the door behind her, I call out her name to grab her attention.

"What?"

"Where's Mom?"

"Working."

"When will she be home?" I ask curiously.

"Hopefully never." And with that, she slams the door behind her, causing the items on the sink countertop to rattle.

Since the nausea seems to have died down a bit, I steady myself in front of the mirror. I step back a bit once I'm confident with my balancing ability, and lift my shirt a bit. I turn to the side to get a better view of my abdomen. I suck in my stomach, sigh, and pull my camisole back down. So much for "quick results."


	6. Time For A Change

**Murphy's POV**

"Why hello there, Murphy."

Just the sound of his wicked voice sends a shiver down my spine and blackens my already lifeless heart.

"Just leave me…alone," I hiss through gritted teeth. Jason holds his hands out in front of him defensively and shoots me a confused stare. I restrain myself from completely telling him off. It's not easy, but I manage. As much as I'd love to make a scene, there's still a time and place for everything—and my grandparents' house is strictly off limits for these kinds of things.

Angrily, I tread through the damp grass with my bare feet and make my way across the yard to the glass sliding door. The sun beats heavily down on my shoulders; yet most of the heat stirring inside of me is from fury, not the weather.

I don't understand why Jason needs to be present at every family gathering these days. Does my mother really rely on him so much that she's lost sight of her own independence? Or does the jackass invite himself and my mother is too submissive to reject him? Either way, I'm getting damn tired of his frequent appearances. Nowadays the only time away from him I get is when I'm at Dad's house. Even then, the constant mention of his name or the wedding from Aurora irks me to a great extent.

But the guy is legitimately at our house every freaking day! I wake up, he's there. I come home from school, he's there. I come home from practice, he's _still _there! I'm beginning to speculate how much worse it could possibly get once he and Mom are officially married.

I mean, he can't tell me what to do, right? After all, it's _my _house. Not his. I was born and raised in the house, and I'll be damned if my freedoms are pushed aside once he moves in. That is, if he moves in. Certainly Mom wouldn't make us move out for him… Or worse, move to Beverly Hills. These are the unpleasant thoughts that cloud my brain as I enter the kitchen.

Mom and my grandparents are all seated around the table, chatting away about whatever. Their heads turn slightly as I push the door closed. It's not until after I hear the echo that I realize I'd taken my frustration out on it.

"Everything okay?" Mom asks, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. She's giving me that look. You know, that don't-you-dare-make-a-scene-in-front-of-your-grandparents look.

"I guess."

What the hell am I supposed to say? Oh sure, Mom. Everything's great, aside from the fact I fucking despise your fiancé. Yeah, but other than that, life couldn't be better.

I smirk to myself at the sarcastic remarks just begging to be set free.

"Murphy, why don't you take a seat and eat something?" Pop offers, gesturing to a vacant chair just beside him. I smile thoughtfully at him. If I can direct my focus towards my grandparents, maybe I can suppress the hatred I feel for my mother and Jason for just a little while.

Once I'm seated in between Pop and Nana, I begin to pick at the assorted platters of food arranged on the table. They ask me about school, sports, and friends—the usual. My mom sits there silently with a sort of blank look on her face. And then once I'm done talking for good, she speaks up again.

It's not a coincidence. She'll do whatever she feels is necessary to make me like her again.

Pop glances back and forth between the two of us. He's no idiot. He senses the tension, the uneasiness in the air. He parts his lips to speak, but I pretend to not notice and blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.

"Where's Vaughn?"

He closes his mouth and I'm relieved to see he decides against bringing anything up. I don't want to discuss the issues I have with my mother. Because then we'd be forced into trying to fix things. I'm not sure how I feel about the idea.

"I think she's in the living room watching TV with Aurora," Nana speaks up. I nod at her thankfully and leave the table within moments.

Upon reaching the spacious living room, I see Aurora and Vaughn both carelessly sprawled out on different couches, staring inattentively at the flashing television screen. Neither of them breaks away from their trance-like state to look up at me. I don't really mind though. I plop down next to my younger sister and twiddle my thumbs in boredom.

One thing I've noticed lately is the recent development of the weird relationship between Aurora and Vaughn. They have never been as close as Vaughn and I, but they still shared a sisterly bond. I remember once being a bit envious of Vaughn that Aurora liked her better. That was when I was younger, though, and still cared what my eldest sister thought of me.

But now, the two of them hardly speak. They don't fight and curse each other out, but I still find the whole situation very odd. They rarely make eye contact either. Maybe their opposing opinions of Jason have finally caused them to drift apart.

As my eyes fall on Aurora's face, my stomach turns a bit and other suspicions resurface.

God, she looks so…sickly. With her pale complexion and weary eyes, you'd get the impression she was suffering from some terminal illness. At first, I didn't think much of it. She's been known to pick up stomach viruses pretty easily and to have a pretty weak immune system. But ever since I saw her puking in the bathroom two weeks ago, I've become more than concerned. I wasn't lying when I said it sounded like she was dying in there. I was positive I would open the door to reveal a gory, bloody mess, like the kind in horror flicks.

This has been going on for a long time, now that I think about it. Even longer than the two weeks that I've been somewhat monitoring how ill she appears to be. So maybe two months? I can't tell. It was more sporadic back then. Now it seems like a constant factor in her daily life.

I divert my eyes from her face, feeling that I've already stared for too long. How does Mom not see that her daughter is a walking time bomb at this point? And what about Jason, the man who supposedly loves Aurora as if she were his own? If he loves her so much, why doesn't he say something about her recent deterioration in health? Maybe the guy could finally put that title as "Dr." to good use for once.

And, speaking of the devil…

"Hey, girls! What are you watching?"

I automatically ignore him, but what I can't seem to ignore is the barely noticeable shudder that goes down Vaughn's body. No one else sees it, but I do. I tend to pick up on those little things, especially when it comes to Vaughn and Dad.

"Some reality show. You can change it if you want," Aurora answers, offering him the remote. Jason shakes his head and sits down next to her. He smoothes back his short, dark locks as his eyes wander around the room.

"Nah, it's fine. So what's new, Rory?"

When the hell did Jason start calling my sister by the nickname that my parents gave her? I know it really shouldn't matter, but for some reason it bugs the crap out of me. I also find it strange that he's asking her what's new in her life, despite seeing her every freaking day. Maybe he's hoping that Vaughn and I will be encouraged to join the conversation.

"Nothing really. School, friends, volleyball…all that fun stuff." Her tone is so monotonous and bored—and she's almost out of breath as her sentence is wrapped up. She's hunched over slightly and keeps massaging her abdomen with her fingertips.

"Good, good. Still tearing it up on the v-ball court?"

"Not really," she responds dully, with a shrug of one shoulder. "I mean, I had to sit out at last night's game."

"What for? You're their ace!" he states, throwing his arms in the air for disbelief.

"Yeah, their ace that missed a week's worth of practice."

"A week?"

"Yup."

Something in Aurora's eyes catches my attention as she dishes out her one-word reply. Almost like…an accusatory glance? Like she's blaming Jason for her absence on the court. And why is she being so abrupt with him today? Normally, she drones on for hours about her teenage girl shit and such.

As I replay the last few lines of their conversation in my head, a metaphorical light bulb goes off… Jason didn't ask her why she missed practice nor did he look surprised at all. That means Jason knows what's going on with her, and possibly why she's been so sick. The final image of her throwing him that biting stare is still fresh in my mind…

I don't necessarily like Aurora, but I swear to God if Jason is doing something to hurt her, I'll kill him with my bare hands.

* * *

**Paul's POV**

"Shit! That one was actually a good shot."

"You lose again, Waltman."

"I'll beat you at something one of these days."

"Keep telling yourself that, man," I chuckle, taking a swig from the beer bottle in my hand. Once it's empty, I set it down on the billiards table and head back to the bar with Sean following. We sit down on two unoccupied stools. Well, pretty much all of them aren't taken, but then again this whole joint is practically empty tonight.

"So what's the latest drama with the wicked witch of the west?"

"What?"

"The ex-wife," Sean clarifies. I chuckle, realizing that my best friend has yet again dubbed Stephanie with another exaggerated but fitting nickname.

"Haven't talked to her in like…a week. I rarely see her at work unless we happen to attend the same meeting. Even then, it's not like we talk."

"Good. You should make that a permanent thing," he snickers. I laugh along with him, but secretly hope that won't ever be the case. For me, interacting with Stephanie in any way, shape, or form is like breathing. It's necessary for my survival.

It may sound pathetic or even desperate, but I'll always need her. Needing someone isn't a decision; it's a feeling. If it was a decision for us to make, life would be easier, but much less exciting. I just wish we could spare our kids from some of this excitement.

"You know what you need?"

My thoughts are broken up at the sound of Sean's voice. This ought to be good…

"What do I need?"

"A female companion," he states. I can't tell whether the wild glint in his eye is from the alcohol or not. He's got that look on his face – the one he gets whenever he's orchestrated some brilliant plan. Although typically, the brilliance is evident to Sean, and only Sean. "Come on, man! Think about the benefits."

"What benefits?"

"_The_ benefits," he carries on, slightly bothered that it's not obvious to me. "How about we name the first and most desirable benefit? Sex!" My eyes widen as I cover his mouth with my big hand, stopping him from going into further detail.

"Would you keep it down?" I ask in a low whisper. "We're in a public place, for Christ's sake!"

"Alright, alright," he mutters, pulling away from me.

God, I do not at all like where this conversation is headed. The idea of…giving myself to someone other than Stephanie is….well, quite frankly it's repulsive. Before I'd met her, sleeping around wasn't really an issue. Mindless sex was welcomed with open arms and an open zipper. But what I shared with Stephanie was different. We had love. And now just the thought of trying to meet those standards with someone else is utterly ridiculous. It's like a retired, hall of fame quarterback deciding to play in the local, neighborhood league. Why would I want to lower myself to that?

"Dude, are you even listening?" Shit, I guess Sean must have been talking.

"Of course," I mumble. "Maybe I just don't like what I'm hearing."

"Don't like what you're hearing? Don't you want to make Steph jealous?"

Jealousy. So that's what things come down to. Our family has enough issues to deal with already, and surprisingly, jealousy isn't one of them. Yet.

"How the fuck old do you think I am? Twelve? This isn't high school, Sean. I'm not getting with a random chick just to draw envy out of Steph."

"How can you even think like that when your bitch of an ex-wife struts around with that Beverly Hills bastard on her arm? Huh?" I bite down on my lower lip. It's horrible, but he's right. If Stephanie can act like our marriage didn't mean shit, then I should be able to, too. "Answer me, Levesque!" he shouts, pushing at my left shoulder. Blood boils in my ears. He should know better than to provoke me like this. He should know my boundaries. "You're just gonna let that S.O.B. take your kids away from you forev…"

He can't finish his sentence before I have him pinned against the wall, choking him by the collar of his shirt.

"Don't…talk…about…my…kids," I warn through gritted teeth.

"Okay, okay. Paul, just calm down," he nervously stutters, failing to squirm away from my strong grip. "Calm down, man. I'm sorry. You know I do stupid stuff when I'm hammered!" he cries in defense. I release hold of his shirt. I tell myself he's not worth it and walk away – out of the bar and into the animated streets of the city.

Fresh air. Yes, that's what I need.

But really, that will only soothe me for the moment. After that short moment withers away, I'm forced to face the hurtful truth that I'm being replaced. Out with the old, in with the new; isn't that what everyone always says?

Was that her grand scheme all along? To keep me to herself for a few years before moving on to something better?

Now I'm making no sense. I'm letting my mind explore places that I prefer to steer clear of. My imagination is on the loose, while my heart is locked away in some black hole light years away…

Stephanie isn't a bad person. At least, I don't think she is. During our marriage, I would be lying if I said she wasn't the genuinely sweetest person I'd ever known. She had the prettiest smile and a laugh that warmed your heart. She knew how to cheer me up or keep me company on days where I felt lonesome.

But that was then; this is now. I begin to wonder whether everything I'd ever thought of Stephanie McMahon was all a lie.

* * *

I hope this wasn't written too terribly. LOL. I can't believe I wrote it two weeks ago and forgot all about it! Sorry to keep anyone waiting. Be sure to let me know in the reviews which POV you want to see in Chapter 7.

I'm sick and stuck in bed all day, so hopefully I can crank out a few (hopefully decent) updates…


	7. Revelations

This one's for McMahonHelmsleyEraFan since she was concerned about the direction I was taking this story in. LOL. Also for AdeebaLovesHHH since she's just gotten into my fics and has been leaving reviews. Thanks, girl! Glad you've decided to come along for the wild ride that is my imagination.

Be sure to leave me your thoughts. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Aurora's POV**

I creep in through the front door, ensuring that my footsteps are hardly audible. The last thing I need is for Dad to come running from wherever to berate me for staying out later than he allows. We all know it will just end in a screaming battle followed by banishment to my room for the remainder of the weekend. It's always this way.

But a few prolonged moments pass and Dad has yet to make an appearance. Normally by now he'd be shouting up a storm – with Murphy in tow, wearing that infamous smirk of hers. She'd get a kick out of Dad telling me off. I decide to stand absolutely still in the front room and wait for a sight or noise indicating someone's awake.

Then I hear it.

It's a soft, whimpering sound echoing down the extensive corridor which leads to the kitchen. My stomach twists in knots upon recognizing the noise as crying. And since I know it's not my father shedding tears, that leaves only two alternatives: Murphy or Vaughn.

If it's Murphy crying…well, good. Quite honestly, she deserves everything that comes her way at this point. Maybe karma is finally catching up to her. Or even better, maybe she pissed Dad off and he was left with no choice but to yell at his sweet, angelic daughter. Maybe he's finally seen through the deceptive mask she's worn for far too long now.

But, what if it's Vaughn? I know we're not what you would describe as "close," but she's nothing but an innocent child. Despite Murphy's many attempts to lure her to the dark side, little Vaughn remains neutral in disputes and often keeps quiet about any opinion of hers. The possibility that something terrible has happened to my baby sister scares me to death. Before it registers in my head, my feet are already guiding me to where my heart knows I need to be.

"Murphy," Dad states calmly. "Murphy, sit down."

Wait. So Murphy's the one in trouble? Serves her right! I linger near the entryway where I can't be seen. My ears open in anticipation for the imminent event. I arrived on the scene expectant to console a distressed Vaughn, but this will do just fine too. It'll be nice to not be on the receiving end of one of my father's verbal abuse.

"Dad…Daddy…"

"Sweetie, you have to tell me if you've done something you weren't supposed to." _Sweetie?_ I should've known Dad doesn't have the heart to lash out on her.

"I…didn't," she snivels.

"Murphy, this is serious. I won't get mad at you; I just need to know."

My previous notion proves to be nothing but false. So if she's not in trouble, then what's she crying about? The possibilities are endless with that girl. Curiosity gets the better of me; watching the situation unfold from a concealed corner just won't do. I enter the room without thinking twice. And it's a mistake, because the image before my eyes drains the life out of me.

Holy shit.

Sitting with her chin rested on the kitchen table, Murphy resembles the ailing figure that I've been for the past month, and maybe even further back. White-as-a-ghost pigmentation. Clammy forehead. Bloodshot eyes. Tears continue to trickle down her cheeks as she clutches at her aching abdomen.

Dad clears his throat to break the silence.

"Aurora, I think it would be best if you waited in the other room," he suggests. I remain frozen in my tracks and ignore the biting cold air seeping in through the open window. My eyes are fixated on my sister. She's weak and vulnerable – two adjectives I never thought I'd use to describe her.

"But Dad…"

"Look, now is not the time for…"

"Daddy, it hurts," Murphy whines from the table. Dad rushes to her side at once and rubs at her back soothingly. He's hushing something to her quietly, almost like a parent would coo at their restless newborn. Murphy often compares my relationship with Mom to hers with Dad, but that couldn't be further from the truth. What she and Dad share is a special, rare thing to find in this lifetime. Sometimes I feel envy brew in the pit of my stomach. I long for someone to love me the way Dad loves Murphy. That's the only reason I took a liking to Jason initially. Since I can't receive adoration from my own father, I found another source. I just didn't expect my soon-to-be stepfather's "daughter standards" to be so outrageously unattainable.

Lost in my own desires and hopelessness, I seem to have missed a chunk of their conversation. Through her strident sobs and labored breathing, I can hardly comprehend anything Murphy's chattering about. But a few words of a sentence do stand out among others.

"…headache…..and then…..Advil….…Mom's house…" I abruptly reinsert myself into the discussion before Dad has the chance to respond. I close the distance between me and my family members.

"You took _my _Advil, didn't you?"

She nods her head shamefully. Even though my tone was accusatory and harsh, it was out of guilt. I need to explain this whole situation to her before she jumps to the wrong conclusions. Ever since I've been showing odd symptoms, Murphy's kept a close watch on me. It's no coincidence that there are scattering footsteps down the hall every time I emerge from a bathroom. I might as well tell her, but with Dad here, I'm not sure that's possible. He wouldn't understand. He couldn't.

"Aurora, do you care to explain what's going on?"

Shit. I forgot my father isn't oblivious like my mother.

"It's nothing, Dad…it's just that…"

"Aurora's taking drugs."

My head violently spins to glare at Murphy. She's not wearing her infamous smirk, but a look of dead seriousness. I can't blame her for thinking that way, but I can blame her for blurting out her assumption to Dad.

"WHAT?"

"It's not what you think," I say automatically, sensing the growing suspicion in the room. With the lights already dimmed and the house silent, I feel like it's my turn to speak at an intervention. The spotlight's shining on me and if I don't explain myself quickly, I could end up in a world of trouble.

"Not what we think? How do you explain the fact that you're always ill?" With her fingers, Murphy puts air quotes around the word "ill" for emphasis. "What about all the missed practices? And it's obviously those damn pills because now _I'm_ sick, too!"

Dad's hazel eyes stare at me not with anger, but with concern – maybe even love. And that tiny ounce of love gives me the strength I need to do this.

"Aurora," he whispers. "What's going on?"

This is it. All secrecy ends here. I knew it had to end at some point, but I'd never imagined it would be due to my carelessness that put my sister's health at risk. My words are lodged in my throat and I'm not entirely sure what to say, but all I know is I need to do it fast. It's like ripping off a band-aid. Fast and painless. Well hopefully.

"They're diet pills, okay?"

I don't stick around to see their reactions. I do the exact opposite by bolting through the door and into the living room, where I collapse on the couch in tears. My strength was only temporary and I can't bear to stare into my father's disappointed eyes.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Stephanie, you still haven't told me where you want to go for our honeymoon."

I smile apologetically and sip from my glass of water.

"I honestly don't care, Jay."

My impatient fiancé tilts his head to one side in disapproval of my answer – the same one I've been giving him for weeks now. He keeps throwing out names of foreign places, like Italy or France or Jamaica, and that might do it for some people, but with all the travelling involved with my career, I'd rather stay closer to home.

"Babe, you know my policy – you want it, you got it," he says with a charming flip of a wink. The left side of my mouth upturns into a small smile as he rises from the table and makes his way over to me. I'm already leaning against the countertop when he wraps his arms around my waist and drops a gentle kiss in my chestnut locks. "Just try to relax, okay?"

"I am relaxed," I counter pathetically.

"You never are," he frowns. "Whenever I'm with you, you're always stressed about something…your job…your kids… Stop worrying about those things." How the hell am I supposed to relax when he says things like that? I violently pull away from his embrace and face him with my hands on hips sternly.

"I'm sorry but 'those things' you describe happen to be _my children_. And I have every right to worry about them, _sweetheart._"

"There you go getting all stressed again! Steph, your kids don't need anyone to worry about them. Not to bash your parenthood skills or anything, but haven't they been living pretty independently for a few years now? Face it; they've already learned to survive without you." At this point, I act on impulse.

My hand connects sharply with Jason's cheek, sending him stumbling backward.

"What the fuck, Stephanie?" He rubs at his red, sore skin and shoots me a look of disbelief. I don't think I've ever slapped anyone as hard as I did Jason just then. But the bastard deserved it.

What he doesn't deserve is a chance to explain himself. At least not now. We can talk it over in the morning, and I'm sure things will be just fine. They always are. But right now, I can't stand to even look at the man who had the audacity to criticize me as a mother and basically tell me my kids aren't worth a damn.

"Get out," I order simply, pointing my finger in the direction of the front door. He complies without opening his mouth again. I don't bother to wish him a safe drive home or even say goodbye. I'm just happy and relieved to hear the front door click shut, leaving me all alone in the empty dwelling.

With nothing left to do, I pour myself a glass of wine and plop down on the couch, setting the rest of the bottle on the coffee table. I stretch out my legs and take a much needed swig of the red liquid. It trickles down my throat blissfully.

Who the fuck did Jason think he was to say those things to me? And why the sudden change of attitude towards my children?

It's weird. Murphy's been implying that I'm a good-for-nothing mom for as long as I can remember, but hearing it from someone else is like sending a dagger through me for some reason. I mean, is it really that obvious? Do people on the streets see me walking with my kids abnormally far away from me and dub me as a shitty mom? The thought's never occurred to me before, but maybe this is just the alcohol speaking.

Realizing that my glass is now empty, I reach for the bottle in front of me and fill it to the top again. I take larger gulps. God, this is good stuff.

"Who's relaxing now, Jason…" I chuckle, picking imaginary lint off of my black sweatpants. The room is spinning and I'm not sure whether the lights are on or off. All I know is that I don't give a fuck.

Everything goes pitch black as I nod off into a heavy slumber.

* * *

"Shhh! Murphy keep your voice down, will you?"

"But Dad…"

"Murphy, shut up."

"You shut up."

The voices become clearer as I feel myself fading back into the real world. Wait. Last I remember it was Saturday night…and Paul usually drops the girls off on Sunday night. So either he's decided to bring them back early or I was a lot more wasted than I can recall.

My eyes flutter open expectant to block out the daylight, but it appears my second assumption is correct. I was completely hammered and slept soundly through an entire twenty-four hour period.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

I feel my cheeks go red as I position myself to sit up on the sofa. God, when was the last time Paul said that to me? Too long ago. But it's a nice, lighthearted welcome after the fallout with Jason prior to my elongated nap. He's kneeling down next to me so we're at the same eye level.

"Hi," I croak, realizing my voice is incredibly hoarse. But just like always, Paul's a step ahead of me.

"Here," he says, holding out a glass of room temperature water. "Drink this. It'll help." I nod gratefully and accept it. How he knew what I'd gotten up to over the past day is beyond me. After a few sips, I realize that the evidence of my drinking session has been cleared away from the coffee table. I'm guessing Paul had something to do with that judging by his thoughtful gestures.

I sigh. "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me," he says with a shrug. "But you know I can't stand when you drink, McMahon." Paul's tone is teasing, but causes a huge grin to appear on my face. He called me sleepyhead _and_ McMahon in the same conversation? Did hell just freeze over?

"What can I say," I chuckle. "I'm a party animal."

"Clearly," he agrees, rolling his eyes playfully. "But everything's okay, right?"

"It is now."

I can't help but feel happy about all of this. I'm at ease with Paul. There's no awkwardness or hidden hatred. It's like all of that disappeared within twenty-four hours; I don't even care why or how it happened. It's just nice to be more than civil with each other – almost like friends. It was the way we started and I'd be just fine with ending things that way.

"Good. I was just taken by surprise to find you in a mess of alcohol when I got home." I start to laugh but bring it to a halt upon realizing what he'd just said.

"_Home?_"

He narrows his eyes at me in confusion.

"Yeah…home," Paul repeats. "Are you _sure_ you're okay, Steph?" His knuckles move up to brush at my cheek tenderly. If I weren't so damn bewildered, I'd probably be enjoying his touch. Instead of doing that, I pull away in fear. Paul's eyes widen and the concern is evident. "You're scaring me, baby." He draws closer to my body as I inch further away. I lightly slap away his comforting hand.

"Don't," I whisper. "Don't touch me. Don't call me sleepyhead or McMahon or baby… Just don't Paul."

"Stephanie, you're scaring me… No more alcohol for you," he confirms. "Ever."

"It's not the fucking alcohol!" I scream. He's taken aback by my abrupt change of mood. God, he probably thinks I'm bi-polar or something. Or maybe he just thinks I'm insane; it sure feels that way. This time he's the one backing away from me.

My body's thinking for me at this point. I move closer to him until I can feel his hot, cautious breathing against my skin. Paul remains impossibly still as I lower my lips to his jaw line.

"Kiss me," I whisper, not even caring what the fuck is happening right now. All I know is that I need his mouth over mine, his tongue dueling for dominance with mine, his body joined with mine…

"Bab – er, I mean Steph, I don't think that's such a…"

Paul doesn't get the opportunity to finish off his thought as I violently grip his collar and tug him closer to me. Our lips fuse together in a passionate kiss. My eyes shut tightly, captivated by the rightness of the moment. He's hesitant at first, but once he realizes how perfect this feels, he's just as engaged as I am. We can fix this. I know we can. The evidence is in our intimate actions, in our flirty banter. We can put back together these broken lives, Paul... Just work with me here.

I open my eyes when I don't feel his lips pressed against mine anymore.

"What the…"

Daylight shines through the windows. An empty wine glass lies on the carpet below me. An almost empty bottle sits atop the wooden coffee table. But the most significant change is that there's no one else in the house besides me. No kids. No Paul. No one kissing me. No one calling me baby. Not a single soul.

Just me, myself, and I.

Ah, fuck my dreams.


	8. We Get Along, Why Can't They?

**Vaughn's POV**

It was all an act.

_It's hard to wake up_

_When the shades have been pulled shut_

_ This house is haunted_

_It's so pathetic_

_It makes no sense at all_

The tacky smiles…the courteous hellos…the erratic, jovial hugs. I should've known it was all too good to be true; that every well-played game has to come to an end sooner or later. Because in our society, divorced parents who are civil to one another don't exist. It simply doesn't work that way. It can't.

And boy, did they have us fooled. The "I'll always love your mother" or "I'll always love your father" lines only possessed so much truth though. The forced conversations at family functions or encounters at work were staged, which is apparent to me now. They thought living this lie would be best for us kids. They thought pretending to get along would hold together the shattering pieces of this family.

I guess the jig's up.

Because as I'm curled into the crook of the upstairs hallway near the staircase, I hear my parents for the people they justly are. I find myself wishing I'd just gone to bed like my sisters, or that I tuned them out with music, but hearing them – it's like some strange addiction. It's like a show that makes you cringe, but you won't change the channel because of the burning curiosity within you. You need to know what happens next, how it will be resolved, or in my case, _if _it will be resolved.

"How can you be so fucking stupid, Stephanie?" Dad pauses. "How could you have not seen what was going on this entire time?" Not a second passes before Mom's voice pipes up to defend herself. They've been going at it for nearly forty minutes – since Dad brought us here to be dropped off.

"How could _I _have been stupid? What about _you_? She's just as much your daughter as she is mine! And I didn't see you figuring this shit out on your own."

"Well maybe if I saw my kids more than twice a month, I would have had the chance to! It's more than I can say for you – the person who sees them almost every day but can't name a damn thing about any of them!"

_Their anger hurts my ears_

_Been running strong for seven years_

_Rather than fix the problems_

_They never solve them_

_It makes no sense at all_

"That's not true." I can almost hear the hesitance in her voice. Of course she would deny it for fear of losing the argument with Dad, but I think a part of her knows the truth. It's just a matter of bringing that part to the surface.

"Really?" he snorts, evidently about as fooled as I am. "When's the last time you went to one of their sporting events? Or parent-teacher conferences? When's the last time you took them somewhere because you wanted to spend time with them? Do you even know that Murphy gets in fist fights at school or that Vaughn won't sleep in her own bed? Do you, Stephanie?"

There's an elongated silence. It's disappointing, but easily expected. Mom in fact doesn't know. And now she's likely feeling guilty, because she neither denies nor defends her actions.

"You need to pull it together." Dad has refrained from shouting now, but his voice is stern and dismal. It's possibly more intimidating than it was when he was yelling before.

"Or what?" Nothing Mom does comes as a shock, but that does. I thought Dad had her silenced with his earlier rant, but I guess not. "What are you gonna do, Paul?" she questions further. I can almost envision her closing the gap between them, throwing herself right into Dad's face.

"I'll go to the judge."

Wait…what? That's definitely an option I've never considered. But perhaps Dad has been contemplating over it for a while now. I'm not sure if it's bad or good that his threat makes me happy. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's suggesting at.

"You wouldn't," Mom hisses.

"Try me," he warns. "And while we're on the subject, I don't want them around your fiancé either. Aurora had to get those pills prescribed somehow, and it's no coincidence that he just 'happens' to be a doctor."

"What the fuck are you implying, Paul?" And here comes the yelling…

"Oh for Christ's sake, Stephanie! Don't make me spell it out for you!"

"Stop being so immature! Just because Jason is the man you never were, doesn't mean you have to be so bitter! In fact, I think you should be happy that our kids will finally have a father figure in their life that they can go to for support and affection. If anything you should be _praising_ Jason – not accusing him of negatively influencing our daughters!"

Dad's about to lose it; I sense it…because I can't hold it in any longer either. Father figure? Support? Affection? My cheeks are wet with streaming tears before I can fathom what's even happening. A whimpering sound fills the air. I guess it must be me. My vision is blurred with moisture and I can't hear them fighting anymore. Good. It hurts my ears, and I never should have sat through any of it. I just want things to be normal again.

"Vaughn?" I sniffle and wipe at my eyes. "Vaughn, sweetie, are you alright?"

That voice. No, I don't want her to console me or to even act like she cares. Not when I can hear right through her comforting words. Reluctantly, I open my eyes only to see the most repulsive scene imaginable. My parents putting aside their differences, for the sake of my wellbeing. It makes me sick to my stomach. They're both crouched down before me with expressions of concern plastered on their faces. At least I know my dad's is genuine.

"Vaughn, come here baby. It's okay," Mom says, luring me into an embrace.

"No!" I shout, tugging away violently. The astonished look she wears almost makes me want to apologize. But I don't.

"Is everything okay?"

Unbelievable. _Unbelievable!_ First the woman attempts to relieve me by assuring me that quote-on-quote, "It's okay." And now here she is, merely seconds later, asking me if everything's okay, when clearly it isn't. Things stopped being okay a long time ago.

"Vaughn you can talk to us," Dad says, still keeping a short distance. He knows I hate being pressured to open up before I'm ready or to be put on the spot without prior notice. Even though I want to believe him, the reality is that I can't talk to anybody. Nobody would understand.

So I don't say anything at all. It's what I always do in these situations. Deep down, I'm just as opinionated as Murphy, but I've learned from watching her that it's better to just keep my mouth shut altogether. Why waste my breath trying to explain myself? It's not like they would magically feel the pain I do or comprehend any of it. But for this reason, everyone in the family has me dubbed as the shy kid who keeps to herself. That's true for the most part actually. One of us has to be levelheaded.

Mom and Dad stare at me cautiously, awaiting a response that isn't coming. Dad gazes at me with those shining hazel eyes of his, and I can't help but feel bad for him. He's the one who has been deprived of everything he holds dear to his heart, but also the one trying to rebuild relationships that fell apart years ago.

I crawl across the carpet to him and wrap my arms around his neck, allowing him to cradle me like a small infant. He makes me feel warm and safe inside. Words can't scar me and nobody can hurt me. It's nice to be held so gently.

"I wanna go home, Daddy," I cry. He brushes back the tangled blonde strands from my face.

"You are home, silly."

"But I wanna go home _with you_," I clarify. I can't see my own face, but I guarantee my blue orbs are wide and insistent. Dad bites down on his bottom lip and I notice he looks over in the other direction, likely at Mom. They communicate silently, in the way only grownups can. Although, I find it ironic that they're hesitant to talk in front of me, but had no problem screaming up a storm not too long ago.

The silence is at last broken by voices – not of my parents, but my sisters, who can be heard walking down the hall to our location. Their muffled laughter and hushed voices echo in the empty house, despite the fact that they were trying to be quiet. Moments later, they appear before us standing side by side.

"We um, heard voices and thought we would check to make sure everything was…"

"Okay," Murphy states, finishing off Aurora's sentence for her. My eldest sister nods in agreement.

It's crazy to see them act like this – Aurora and Murphy. They're getting along, which is something beyond a miracle. Not in a million years would I have thought they'd actually _like_ each other. I mean, sure it all happened because of Aurora's frightening revelation, but I can't complain. Their bickering at times drove me up the wall. It will be a pleasant change around here. I can only pray that their relationship isn't as fraud as the one Mom and Dad have tried to pull off for so many years.

"Everything's fine, girls." It's Mom who speaks up. I wonder if anyone else picks up on Murphy's blatantly disgusted facial expression. Probably. Nothing she ever does is subtle.

"And what exactly is your definition of fine, Mother dear?"

"Murphy," Dad begins, shooting her a scold-like stare. "Watch your mouth."

The smirk that slowly adorns her face is a pretty evident sign that this conversation is about to take a turn for the worst.

"My mouth?" she snorts in disbelief. "After the number of F-bombs that you two dropped tonight, I don't think _my_ mouth is the one you should be concerned about."

"Murphy!" my parents howl in unison, their eyes wide with horror. I guess the rooms in this house aren't as soundproof as they originally thought. Their fighting clearly carried throughout the entire house. And leave it to Murphy to address it at the wrong time.

"Well, I was just stating the obvious, you know."

"We'll be having a chat later, young lady," Dad says, pointing his finger in Murphy's direction. She folds her arms over her chest and smirks. Clearly, everyone here – with the exception of Mom – knows that chat will never happen. He shifts his focus from Murphy to me. I'm still snuggled into his side. He pats my back gently. "Vaughn, why don't you grab your things?"

"She's going back with you?" Murphy steps forward automatically. "Can I go, too? Can I?"

"Well, if they're both going, then can I?"

We all look at Aurora in shock. She never has had a desire to go to Dad's house outside of the mandatory visits. And she doesn't even like those. Maybe her admittance to using the pills was the best thing to ever happen to her. Neither Murphy nor I were allowed to stay and watch, but we listened to the situation unfurl from the top of the stairs.

Essentially, the key points of discussion had nothing to do with Aurora taking diet pills – which Dad wasn't even mad about. It was mainly centered on their relationship, and how she felt neglected as a daughter. Through it all she was the only one who remained by Mom's side and in the midst of everything, she felt that Dad didn't care for anymore. I know that couldn't be further from the truth, but Aurora didn't.

So they talked things through, shed a few tears, and restored what once was. Sure it'll take time for things to be fully back to normal between them, but Aurora's longing to spend more time with Dad is a good start.

As for the diet pills, I'm not exactly sure what went through my sister's head. She's not even slightly overweight, so that means someone had to put the idea in her head that she was. And thinking back to what Dad said earlier about a doctor needing to fill out the prescription for her, I have my suspicions. Hopefully Aurora has seen the error in her ways and won't let _his_ opinions influence her anymore.

"Look, if they all want to go to your house…" Mom begins slowly. "Maybe it's just easier for you to spend the night here." I look to my sisters and then to my father.

"Seriously?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in astonishment.

"Yeah, they won't have to pack and…and yeah. It's just...easier," she explains with a shrug.

"Right," he agrees.

And that's the end of the conversation before we all head off in our respective directions. Dad happily stays in my room until I doze off to sleep. Something about him being here at night adds nostalgia to the atmosphere. He tucks me into bed like he used to in this room, but I'm confused why something still feels like it's missing. Isn't this what I wanted? And then I can recall why this feels so familiar, yet so different.

When I was a little girl, both of my parents would tuck me into bed together. Side by side.

* * *

First time hearing from little Vaughn – I promise her POV will get more interesting. I used bits of "Stay Together for the Kids" by Blink-182. It's the same song from this fic trailer. The link's on my bio page. Anyways, review and let me know what ya think of this story so far! It's only the beginning… :-)


	9. Sobriety Is For Suckers

I apologize for any confusion due to the constantly switching POV's. This chapter's split into four parts: Murphy, Steph, 3rd person, and finally Paul. I'm thinking of doing more 3rd person scenes as the story progresses, so this was just a sample to see how it worked. Thank you for bearing with me on this fic. As always, I can't wait to hear your thoughts. Hope you like it!

* * *

**Murphy's POV**

I snuggle underneath the covers in anticipation for Dad to come in here, to tuck me into the very bed he used to when I was merely a toddler. My hair cascades all over the cotton pillow as I recall him reading us stories, making sure to exaggerate every single sentence. Or when he would send us into fits of giggles with his claims of being the tickle monster. Frantically, I would retreat to my bed, finding a place of refuge under the layers of blankets. I can almost hear the sound of my own five-year-old voice screeching and squealing in fear.

The racket would eventually draw Mom into the room to investigate. She would scold Dad playfully for getting me all wound up at bedtime. Her arms would fold over her chest and she would eye him in a way far too complex for the understanding of a little kid, as I was back then. Dwelling on it now though, it was probably love. In fact, I'm sure of it.

My parents were so in love. Although I was young during the divorce, there were a few things that stuck with me. The way Mom looked at Dad was one of them. Her eyes told the story of their romance – of the hardship they'd endured to be together and the feelings they couldn't sum up with purely words.

I think part of the reason I despise my mother so much traces all the way back to those instances. She had the biggest heart, the brightest personality. Her love for us was evident in everything she did. So now the thought of her being the exact opposite of that is sickening. I guess I just miss who she used to be. I long for her to be the person she once was. I miss her smiles, her kisses, her sweet laughter. And somewhere in my mind I believe that killing off the person she is today will make her go back.

"Hey, Smurf."

My chin lifts upon hearing the sound of Dad's voice. The mattress dips underneath his weight as he sits on my bed.

"Hi, Daddy."

His fingers move to lightly trace my jaw line. "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

I sort of have this irrefutable desire to tell him what I really do think about on nights like these, where I lie awake for hours and reminisce over the past. But after the nasty quarrel he had with Mom earlier, I decide it's best not to burden him with even more problems.

"Nothing, really. I just miss you being here at night, that's all," I admit quietly. I can't help but feel vulnerable around Dad. Every time I'm with him, I feel the sudden urge to open up about every solemn aspect of my life.

"I do, too, Smurf. I do, too."

His eyes flicker with sadness, but he looks away immediately to keep me from noticing. I wonder if he knows that I did indeed see the pain behind his hazel orbs.

"Then don't leave, Dad. Stay here with us forever."

He chuckles. But it's more of a dry snort than a hearty laugh. "You know damn well that won't ever happen."

Despite the fact that my room is nearly pitch black, my hand finds his. Our fingers interlock. My other hand remains empty and still though. Like it's numb. Dead. In a way, I see it as some strange allegory that mirrors the relationships with my parents. On one side, I'm warm and protected. There's a connection. And even when his hand isn't physically there, I still feel like it is.

And on the other side? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just the feel of the cold, hard sheets pressed against my face down palm.

"I'm gonna go now, sweetheart," Dad hushes. "I'll be in the guest room down the hall if you need me." My eyes are already halfway closed. I can see my eyelashes nearly touching the top of my cheeks. My chest succumbs to a steady rise and fall pattern as my breathing evens out. I feel his fingers slip away from mine, but even though they do, I know they're not gone.

I sense Dad hovering over my body as he rises to his feet, the mattress slightly shifting once again. He leans down to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. And while he's lowered, I manage to let out the faintest of whispers.

"Get her back."

My lips as well as my eyes, close for good now. I know that he hears me though. It's just a matter of whether those three little words came out as coherent as they did in my head. Funnily enough, before my bedroom door clicks shut, I swear I hear the response, "One day," come from the still darkness. A somewhat smile graces my lips. Maybe it's just me being delirious.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

It's nearly a quarter after midnight.

I've habitually been a night owl for as long as I can remember, but normally it's due to having other preoccupations. Tonight the only thing preoccupied is my mind. I can't seem to stop replaying the argument I had with Paul in my head. Fighting with him…it made me feel so alive. Like there was a fire lit under me, in a place where it had been extinguished for so long.

The last time I felt this way was during the final year of our marriage. We fought virtually every day and I'm not saying it was enjoyable, but I never did do anything to prevent it from happening. Neither did Paul though. We said things to get under each other's skin, making our exchanges dangerously personal. Honestly, I'm shocked he stuck around all that time.

But tonight…tonight was like some odd case of déjà vu. So I went with it. I countered every single thing he threw my way, daring to insert remarks I had no business making. Like when I said that Jason would make a hell of a lot better father than Paul. Of course I don't believe that. How could I? My ex-husband may be a lot of things, but a bad parent isn't one of them. That role has been reserved for me, for whatever reason, I don't know.

"Couldn't sleep?"

My head snaps up and I automatically set my glass of wine down on the coffee table next to the bottle. My eyes travel shamelessly up his body until they meet with his. They're remarkably lighter, as far as color goes. Earlier they were darkened with rage. I take note of where we are and what exactly is happening. This seems all too familiar from my dream, barring the fact that I'm not drunk. Yet. But the setting and people are the same.

"Not exactly," I murmur. Paul sits down on the lounge chair across from me, his big hand running through his ponytail. He's wearing a pair of track pants and a black tank top, with a white towel dangling over his shoulder and a water bottle in one hand. His tanned skin is moist with perspiration. "And I assume you've been working out?"

"Just a bit." He takes a swig from the bottle, squeezing it until it crinkles. "I used the gym downstairs. I didn't think you would mind."

"Of course not."

It's not like I use it anymore. On occasion, I will, but not as frequently as I did when we were together. It's a nice gym though. It takes up almost the entirety of the basement. I sort of felt bad that when I won rights to the house, I was practically taking away Paul's pride and joy. He'd sacrificed so much time and effort into making the gym. And he made good use of it each and every night. I mean, I'm sure he's got a fine commercial gym in his new house, but still…

"Look, Steph, about earlier…"

"Just forget about it," I interrupt. He narrows his eyes and leans forward, resting his forearms upon his knees. At first he's frazzled by my abruptness. Then he shakes his head, his eyes fixated on the carpet.

"Is that how you deal with all of life's problems?" He pauses, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "You just expect every hitch to resolve itself, don't you?"

"I don't know." I shrug one shoulder uneasily. I sense that it's only a matter of time before this turns into another verbal battle. I shift on the couch cushion as he watches my facial expression with caution. "What?"

He lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug before gesturing to the bottle on the table. "You're drinking."

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

"I was just making an observation," Paul mutters.

"Just because you don't like to, doesn't mean that I can't."

"And I never said you couldn't," he states. I pick up my glass and bring it up to my lips, holding it there tauntingly for a moment. The blood red liquid rushes down my throat with each mouthful I take. Rolling his eyes dryly, Paul speaks up. "But for the record, I am very well capable of drinking with the best of them."

"I'll believe it when I see it," I murmur.

There's a brief silence between us, before the unspoken challenge is issued.

"Pass the bottle, McMahon."

* * *

Stephanie extended her arms high above her head, kicking her feet out in front of her as she padded across the living room floor. It was her best attempt at recuperating from the events of the night prior. Her puffy orbs fell upon the wine bottles on the table. The _empty_ wine bottles, might she add. There were three of them. And between her and her ex-husband, that was a substantial amount of alcohol to consume.

Speaking of which, where was Paul?

That was why she had come downstairs to begin with. The guest room he was supposed to be staying in was no longer occupied. All of his belongings had vanished as well. She figured that he was down here making food for himself. God knows Stephanie needed something to settle her stomach after drinking away her sorrows. She wondered how he was handling the hangover, wherever he was.

Shrugging off her concern, Stephanie collected the bottles and disposed of them in the kitchen. The last thing she needed was for her kids to see just what she'd gotten up to during their slumber. They doubted her as a parent enough as of lately. The only thing that calmed her guilt the slightest bit was that Paul was there doing it with her. He was a good parent. He didn't do stupid things. They just had a bit of fun; that was all.

She sat down on the stool at the raised section of the marble counter. The girls could wake up at any given minute. They would come rushing down the stairs, anxious to see their father. Delightful smiles would grace their sleepy faces as they prepared to leap into his loving embrace...

But instead, they would be waking up to their mother.

Stephanie sighed, wondering what explanation would be appropriate to give her children as to why their father had disappeared during the wee hours of the morning. Especially without saying goodbye to them. But how could Stephanie give them answers, when she herself didn't know Paul's reasoning? The final moment she could recall was finishing off the last of the wine. Then they went upstairs and headed off in their separate ways.

At least, she thought they went in separate ways. Unless...

"Where's Dad?"

Stephanie's head shot up immediately. Her cheeks were flustered red, but she was grateful that her thoughts had been interrupted. She stared at her three daughters in silence for a moment before Murphy piped up.

"Is Dad here or not?"

"Murphy," Aurora scolded, lightly smacking her sister's shoulder. "Are you okay, Mom? You look…not well."

Ignoring her daughter's question, Stephanie placed the palms of her hands on her cheeks. Her face was hot.

"Mom?"

Stephanie looked to her oldest, who appeared to be sincerely concerned.

"I'm – I'm fine," she croaked. Then she turned her attention to an impatient Murphy. Her arms were folded over her chest still awaiting an answer. An answer that Stephanie wasn't able to provide. She thought of being honest and telling her girls that she didn't know where Paul went. But that would likely scare them. So she went with the first excuse that came to mind. "Your dad had to run some errands."

"At seven in the morning?" Murphy asked, evidently unconvinced.

"Yes."

"Well, is he coming back?"

Stephanie paused. "No, I don't think so."

"He didn't say bye to us." This time it was little Vaughn to speak up. Stephanie felt her heart sink at the little frown forming on the child's lips. In spite of everything, Vaughn was still her baby, as would she always be. With that in mind, Stephanie managed to make it to her feet, using the counter for balance, and tucked a few blonde strands behind her daughter's ear.

"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm sure he'll call later or something," she assured her.

When Vaughn didn't acknowledge that she understood, Stephanie leaned down to caress her cheek. Only then did she notice the glossy tears forming in her pale blue eyes. Before she could say anything though, Vaughn scurried off.

"Oh, baby, hold on!"

Stephanie was about to chase after her, but a hand gripping her arm stopped her from doing so.

"I'll handle it," Murphy said dryly.

So Stephanie stayed back, just like she always did. She let her twelve-year-old tell her what to do. And she obeyed, like always. Because if she didn't, there was absolutely no chance of ever gaining back her love.

And that's all Stephanie really wanted.

* * *

**Paul's POV**

"How about a drink, man?"

I shake my head vigorously at Sean's offer and gesture to the glass of water in front of me. "None for me, dude." My temples are still sore and my stomach is still nauseous from however the hell much I drank last night. "Ever," I add.

"Suit yourself," says Sean, as he grabs a beer can from the refrigerator. "So what's the latest Stephanie drama?"

Quite frankly, the woman herself is too complicated for words. One moment we're at it like cats and dogs, and the next, we're drinking and laughing, having a jolly good time. I can't make up my mind how I feel about her. Of course, how I feel in my heart is plain and simple. It has been since the day I first laid eyes on her.

"I stayed over last night," I answer. "To be with my kids."

"Holy shit! You did? Steph let that happen?"

"It was her idea actually."

"Fuck, man." Sean plops down into the seat across from me, shaking his head in disbelief. "What did Mr. Beverly Hills have to say about that?"

I snicker. "Surprisingly, he wasn't there. And by surprisingly, I mean _thank God_."

After hearing the way Murphy speaks about Jason, I'm not sure I'd be able to last ten seconds around him without feeling the sudden urge to punch his lights out. And from what little I've seen of him, he comes across as a self-righteous, egotistical, pompous jerk. He walks around expecting everyone to wait on him, hand and foot. The worst part is that Stephanie looks to him for approval to do or say something, as if he owns her. She's not some fucking possession. And neither are my daughters.

Plus, there's the whole situation going on with Aurora that makes me even more skeptical of the guy. I mean, what kind of so-called doctor prescribes unnecessary drugs to a teenage girl? Drugs that are deteriorating her health, might I add. A fucking stupid one, that's what kind!

"Details."

My head lifts to meet Sean's inquisitive stare. "Huh?"

"Details, man! What happened there?"

I ponder over how much I should actually spill. "Not much. I was there for my girls. Steph and I got into an argument earlier, but we hashed it out. Sort of."

"That's all?" I nod. "_Laaaame!_"

"Well, what were you expecting?" I ask curiously, arching one eyebrow.

He shrugs and sips from his can. "I don't know. Something more exciting than that, though."

I smirk to myself, but Sean doesn't seem to notice. I'm almost tempted to inform him of our little drinking game in the living room. That really was something. For a while, it felt like Stephanie was actually opening up to me. Sure she was slurring every other word, but it was still progress, right?

I only wish I could remember more of the night. I can only recall the mere beginning of our encounter and then waking up on the guest bedroom couch, reeking of alcohol and dripping sweat. The events in between are a blur though. As if they never happened.

"I feel like Steph and I are at a standstill in…whatever you would classify our relationship as." Sean cocks his head to one side in utter bewilderment. I continue on. "Like we'll get along good for a while, then we'll go through phases of awkwardness, and then we'll fight like there's no tomorrow. Then it starts all over again. It's like a never ending cycle, and I'm not sure I like any of the stages."

"Woah, dude," Sean says, holding his hands out in front of him. "Save those problems for a psychiatrist."

Rolling my eyes, I shoot him an irritated glare. "Thanks for the support, buddy," I retort sarcastically.

"Very funny," he mutters. "But you will be thanking in due time, my friend."

"Why? What did you do?"

He remains silent, a devilish grin adorning his aging features. I'm somewhat hesitant to hear his answer. Sean always has been one for roping me into predicaments I have no desire to be in. He can't distinguish a good time from danger. But it's always been like that with him. I'm fully aware of that, and by associating myself with him, I've accepted the trouble that's guaranteed to come along with our friendship. Finally he clears his throat.

And I'm not quite sure how to react when he says:

"I got you a date."


	10. Bedroom

Short chapter, I know. Trying to get back into this one, I promise! Expect another update over the weekend. This one goes out to Brittany for the awesome interviews! I owe you so many updates that it isn't even funny. Also, thanks to Caty for all the reviews – absolutely hilarious. Everyone enjoy!

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

I gaze out the vast window into the unoccupied yard, my body slightly pressed against the warm glass. It's a beautiful day outside really. With not a cloud in view, the sun is free to shine in all of its splendor. The grass is green as could be, the sky equally as blue. The rare, sudden gust of wind rattles the frail tree branches and chirping birds can be heard from where I stand. Indignantly, I snicker at how deceptive the scene is. Perfect. Ideal. Flawless. All words I would have used to describe my life a decade ago without reluctance. Perfect children. Ideal career. Flawless marriage.

But just when you think you've got it great and that nothing could be better, your whole world comes crashing down around you. It crumbles at such a rapid pace, too. And you never see it coming. You're blinded by the perfection of everything. Then one day you wake up and have nothing. All the wonderful aspects of life have slipped through your fingers like tiny grains of sand.

I find myself incapable of staring at the landscape for much longer. Remembering what life once was is something I don't dwell on frequently, so I allow my mind to drift off to another subject. The same one it always tends to at times like these…

Paul hasn't contacted neither the kids nor myself in the two days since he vanished, which worries me to a great extent. Regardless of anything that happens between us, his safety will eternally be near and dear to my heart. God, even the thought of his life in jeopardy nauseates me. More than it should. But he is the father of my kids, so I'm entitled to be concerned…right? Or maybe that's an excuse. Maybe I have residual feelings for the man, and I just use the fact that we created lives together to justify them. I muster a groan out of frustration. Why are feelings so damn complicated?

It's a tough question that will possibly never be answered. But there is another matter that I would much rather receive feedback on. Why exactly did Paul rush out before sunrise? It's so unlike him, to just abandon the kids without a proper goodbye. There's no doubt in my mind that he knew beforehand of the devastation it would cause them. It seemed as if they were all finally on the same page. Even Paul and Aurora. For him to bolt unexpectedly just doesn't make sense.

Sighing, I pad across the tile and sit down at the kitchen table. I bury my face in my palms. My hands are clammy against my forehead. A different thought occurs to me. Perhaps it was not the kids he was running out on, but me instead. Now _that_ makes sense. Though it comes off as a bit cowardly on his part, I know he would resort to doing anything just to get away from me. He can hardly stand to be near me. I see it in his eyes whenever we're together. It's the same look I recognize in Murphy's eyes. Seeing me makes him sick to his stomach. Kind of like how I feel right now. I robbed him of everything. And after those uncalled for remarks I made pertaining to his parental skills, I don't blame him. I would have left too if the roles were reversed.

Hearing the footsteps in the living room, I hold on to these last few moments of alone time. It's absolutely awful at how much I take pleasure in loneliness. It's like a craving almost. A sick and twisted craving.

"Hey, Steph." I somewhat smile at my fiancé. Is it bad that I'm contemplating over asking him to go home? Lately, it seems that our relationship is lifeless. I have no desire to be around him and more times than not, I actually forget about we're engaged to be married. My eyes travel downwards. Until I see this freaking huge rock on my left hand. I mask my displeasure as he pulls out a chair across from me. "Having fun in here all by yourself?"

The sarcasm in his tone tells me I probably shouldn't answer honestly. My honest answer would be yes. This is the only activity I enjoy. "Just thinking, that's all."

At that, Jason's expression significantly morphs into something else. I fear that he will interrogate me about Paul, as he often does. It is very odd indeed how much he fusses over my ex-husband. Sometimes, I feel that he looks at me and sees Paul. His hatred for our marriage – what Paul and I once had – is evident in everything he does. It's almost as if my fiancé dreads the day that our love reawakens. If that is so, I might as well cut to the chase now and rid him of that worry. Because I know the truth all too well myself. That day is never going to come. Ever.

But who am I to make judgments? I'd be lying if I claimed that I don't see Paul when I look at Jason.

"About?" he prompts. I break away from my thoughts.

"Life." It's as honest as an answer I can give without going into detail.

"Well, that narrows it down." Reaching out across the table, he strokes my forearm. It's an attempt to exhibit affection, but I flinch involuntarily at the sensation. His eyes narrow in utter shock. "My God, Stephanie! What has gotten into you lately? You won't talk to me, you won't touch me, and you don't return my phone calls! How do you expect to make a good wife if this is how you behave?"

It takes an immense amount of self-restraint for me to hold back. I want to tell him that I'm not a good wife and that if he doesn't take my word for it, he can ask Paul. But I don't.

"It's not you," I begin pathetically. "I've just been under a lot of stress at work. That's all." I wonder how much longer I can dish out this excuse before he sees right through it. Who knows, maybe I already am transparent.

"Do you want me to talk to your dad about it?"

"No!" I all but shout. Realizing that I hardly gave him time to finish his sentence, I relax into my chair a bit. "Please don't talk to my father about it." Or about anything, essentially. I thank God for having the ability to think inwardly without others hearing said thoughts. I would go stir crazy if not. "You know how Dad is. He doesn't buy into that kind of stuff. Plus, he would lose all respect for me if I sent you to handle my dirty work for me."

The look on his face tells me that I'm not at all being convincing. "Are you sure, Steph? I mean, can't he turn over some of your workload to that ex-husband of yours?" I should have known this was where our discussion was headed. It's where it always ends up. "I mean, he does like to show his face around your office quite a bit."

Here we go again…

"Jason, we go over this all the time. Paul Levesque is a top executive in the company. I can't help the fact that he and I need to meet every now and then to discuss _business_."

Dryly, he rolls his eyes. I guess my emphasis on the final word means nothing to him. That isn't anything new though. No matter what I say, he can't get it through his thick skull that there is nothing going on between me and Paul. I would be kidding myself if I declared otherwise.

As we sit in transitory silence, I decide that I won't make mention of Paul staying over. I wasn't planning to initially, but now I'm adamant on keeping it to myself. He can't know. He's already got me pegged as a whore who flirts shamelessly behind his back. That's really no way to kick off a marriage. Not if we want things to work out. Not if I want a fresh start. If Jason were to somehow gain knowledge of this event, he would instantly jump to the wrong conclusions.

"Whatever you say, Steph," he mutters. I watch him divert his attention from my face and pull out today's newspaper. Flipping through it, his eyes wander, undoubtedly in search for the health section. As a so-called doctor, he thoroughly enjoys criticizing the advice of his presumed rivals. Once an article intrigues him, I become invisible. He's evidently dismissed me, which means I can stop pretending that I care.

Looking for something – anything – as a distraction, my eyes lock on the empty wine bottles beside the sink. My stomach turns just thinking back to that night. How the hell I managed to function the next day is beyond me. At least I didn't have to go to work. Though I did spend a good deal of time trying to contact my ex-husband, who still hasn't answered any calls or texts. I tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear and allow my eyes to shut.

But the night itself...

I don't think I've ever consumed so much alcohol in one sitting. Not even during my college days, where not getting bloody wasted was a crime. To be honest, I didn't think Paul had it in him to drink so much either. He never does. He never did, at least. I keep asking myself how this occasion differed from the rest. I yearn to know what made that instance so special. But then I recall myself pointing out that he never drinks and the pieces of the puzzle slowly start fitting together. In that sense, he hasn't changed the slightest bit. Never wanting to appear weak, Paul viewed my innocent statement as a challenge and victory could only be attained by proving me wrong. By out-drinking me.

Brief, staggered flashes of the night fill my head. It's like I'm reliving the experience in bits and pieces. It's…coming back to me. An accepted challenge. So much alcohol. Red wine. Three bottles. Head spinning. Blurry vision. Talking and laughing. Laughing and talking. Knees weak. Bloodshot eyes. More laughing. Louder laughing. Smiling. Happiness. Touching. Staircase. Paul carrying me. Hallway. More touching. Kissing. Clothes falling to the floor. Harder kissing. Passion. Hands roaming. Stumbling. Opening the door.

Bedroom.


	11. Touch Me?

This wasn't originally what I had in mind for this chapter, but I figured I'd write out this scene. Most of this story has been pretty evil/depressing, so hopefully this makes up for it! I've also decided to bump the rating up to mature for this fic. I'm not really sure what the site's official smut policies are so…yeah. Plus, there are things that happen in later chapters that could be considered mature content and I don't want to stir trouble lol.

Note – this chapter is entirely in 3rd person and is "the flashback." Enjoy!

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Paul unsteadily placed the near empty wine bottle on the coffee table after filling their pair of glasses to the top with the deep red fluid. With a shaky grip on the glasses, he passed one to Stephanie, who gladly accepted it and wasted no time raising it to her lips. God, she needed this so much. More than she needed her job and more than she needed her wayward fiancé. A loopy grin graced her lips as she felt the liquid drain down her throat. A few hours to check out of the real world meant everything to her. She could let loose and embrace a feeling that was similar to bliss. And who better to do so with than her ex-husband himself?

Despite her spinning head and hazy vision, she was able to glance over at Paul. The dim lighting illuminated the handsome features of his face, specifically bringing out his eyes and lips. Normally she would suppress the weakness in her knees and the flutter in her stomach. But not tonight. She was drunk so these effects were justifiable. Somewhere along the way he had ended up seated next to her on the sofa. She found the distance between them gradually diminishing as her shoulder was pressed to his bicep. Whether she was leaning on him for physical or emotional support, she didn't know. Nor did she care. Being this close to Paul just felt right on so many levels.

Paul sank back into the couch cushions at ease. Realizing that Stephanie was staring at him like a dazed schoolgirl, he turned to meet eyes with her. A wicked smirk crossed his lips.

"What ya looking at?" he questioned, anticipating her cheeks to flood with heat.

"You have pretty eyes."

To stifle back his laughter, Paul shielded his mouth with his hand awkwardly. Her mumbled admission combined with that dopey smile she was wearing was just too priceless. Divorced or not, Stephanie was awfully cute after a bit of alcohol. She was…real. The metaphorical filter from her brain to her mouth disintegrated.

Exaggeratedly, he batted his blonde eyelashes. "Do I _really_?" To hell with everything; he loved playing along with her when she was in this semi-aware state.

"Uh-huh," she mumbled, taking another sip of wine. "You have a nice smile, too."

The amusement in his expression immediately vanished. It transformed into something else. There wasn't a word to describe it, but he now felt his heart pounding at a quicker pace. It suddenly dawned on him how truly beautiful Stephanie looked at this moment. Her tousled chestnut locks covered her shoulders and her skin was practically glowing. In spite of her dilated pupils, her eyes appeared to be extraordinarily blue. Christ, she was beautiful. A beautiful disaster.

Paul brought one hand upwards and lightly brushed her dimpled chin. Her stare was soft and welcoming. "Yours is nicer. It takes my breath away. I miss seeing it," he confessed. He trailed his fingertips along her bottom lip. It was still as soft and warm as it was in his recollections. He might as well be entirely truthful with her. This may be his only chance and it was inwardly killing him to keep his thoughts locked up for so long.

"Then I should smile more, since you like it so much." Stephanie paused then tilted her head to one side. "Paul?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't I smile anymore?" she inquired, rather puzzled.

Paul drew his hand away from her face and silently asked himself the same question. When the reality of it finally hit him, he sighed loudly. They were miserable without each other. It was so plain and simple, yet difficult and complex. He was so in love with this woman and he wanted to believe that she felt the same way about him. He could convince himself otherwise all he wanted. He could remind himself of the living hell she made his life, but that changed nothing. His love for Stephanie McMahon was eternal.

"You tell me," he hushed, grabbing hold of her hands.

Stephanie bit down on her lip. Paul's touch was wonderful and intoxicating. She could hardly think or even remember her own name. The alcohol undoubtedly contributed to that, too. But mostly Paul. The man was the epitome of perfection. From his eyes to his body to his hearty laugh.

"Because…I…miss you," she managed to say. The room was spinning. The walls were closing in. Her eyes travelled from Paul's to her half-filled glass on the table. Her brain said no, but everything else said yes.

Gently, she slipped her hands out of his and grabbed both glasses. Paul hesitantly took his and disregarded the underlying sentiment that this was a bad idea. But her words echoed in his ears like a ticking clock. She admitted to missing him and that overwhelmed his senses with delight. Stephanie eyed him curiously, still waiting for him to muster a response.

"I miss you, too," he whispered, fighting back tears that threatened to present themselves.

"What now?"

With the hand that wasn't holding the glass, Paul reached down into the pocket of his track pants and cupped something in his palm that didn't yet enter Stephanie's line of vision. Using a lazily clenched fist, she rubbed at her eyes and focused on the glimmering object – objects. There were two. Her cheeks soon became damp as she identified the seemingly ancient items.

"Tonight…" Paul began, as he placed a ring on his finger then the other on her shaky digit, "…you're my wife."

Wiping at the falling tears with her sleeve, Stephanie briefly allowed her mind to travel to their wedding day. Yesterday it would have seemed like forever ago, but now it felt so close to the present day. She raised her glass above their heads and allowed Paul to clink his against hers.

"To…you and me," she breathed out. "Us."

* * *

Several hours and a countless number of wineglasses later, Stephanie nestled her head into his muscular chest. Her limbs were heavy as she made a failed attempt at movement. She was vaguely conscious of the empty bottles and glasses scattered about the carpet. Her body and mind were in another place. A much better place. Using the couch for leverage, she was somehow able to sit up in a position so that she could straddle her former husband. She placed her palm on the side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Hi," she giggled. Paul snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer into him.

"Hey, beautiful," he mumbled, the residual taste of alcohol stringent on his tongue. Her ring felt cool against his warm skin. It seemed as if they were the only two people on the planet. Paul wouldn't mind being stuck here in this moment until the end of time. Looking into her beautiful blue eyes with not a care in the world felt as natural as breathing.

Before it could register in his head what was happening, Stephanie leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck as her tongue slipped inside of his mouth. She didn't know what had come over her. Want. Desire. Love. She just knew she needed to feel close to him and this was the only way she knew how. She put herself back in another time. A time where they were happily married and the notion of divorce was foolish to them both. Instinct was now overpowering reason. And even though she was too engaged in their kiss to realize, the old Stephanie was slowly resurfacing.

The best part in all of this was Paul kissing her back. Not the slightest bit reluctant, he was showing just as much passion as her. He wanted her. She could feel it. The undying lust resonated in his eyes. It unquestionably mirrored the hunger in her own eyes.

Pulling back slightly, Paul leaned his forehead against hers, them both left panting heavily.

"Is this what you want?"

Stephanie opened her eyes, her stomach pooling with aspiration. His dark stare was fixated on her face. "Yes," she murmured. "Make love to me, Paul Levesque."

His full name falling from her lips escalated his already growing want for her. She wanted this just as much as he did. She requested it of him. So now he was going to make it happen.

In one swift movement, he lifted her from the couch, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Stephanie unhurriedly began to kiss the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders as he headed for the staircase. He growled lowly. Christ, it had been too long. Her lips and tongue belonged on his body. Every feeling he'd managed to curb for what seemed like forever was coming rushing back to him all at once. It was overwhelming.

In a good way.

Even in his drunk state, Paul was able to carry her up the stairs. He stumbled a few times, but they both survived the ascent in one piece. Once they reached the second level, not an instant passed before he had her pressed against the wall, driving his mouth into hers once again. Stephanie dug her nails into his upper back through the black cotton as he elicited a moan from her mouth. Her tongue swirled around inside of him, tasting him in every which way fathomable.

Not breaking the kiss, she reached below to grip the hem of his tank between her fingers. She inched it up his body, running her hands up his bare, chiseled abdomen as she did so.

The need for oxygen forced them to separate momentarily. In the meantime, Stephanie helped guide the shirt over Paul's head as he flung it to the ground carelessly. It landed somewhere behind him, but his attention was aimed elsewhere.

After ridding Stephanie of her long-sleeved, grey shirt he pressed his lips to her skin and began to leave a vigorous trail of kisses down her body. She arched her back, leaning into the wall with her shoulders. With his mouth he continued to nip and suck at her skin until reaching the waistband of her black yoga pants. Then he lifted a hand and rested it in between her legs. He could already feel the garment dampening against his upturned palm.

Stephanie's head was thrown back in pleasure as she started pushing the pants down her long legs. She needed to feel him touch her in her most intimate area. And it had to be soon. Her body was nearly convulsing in anticipation. Catching her drift, Paul assisted her, taking her panties down, too. She stepped out of the clothing and kicked it out of the way.

"Touch me, touch me, please."

Her whine was filled with desperation and vulnerability. Paul moved his fingers to her hot flesh and began to rub back and forth slowly. The contact drew out a loud moan from inside of her. God, this felt like nothing she'd ever experienced before. Like she was losing her virginity all over again – and they hadn't even made it further than the foreplay yet. Feeling him pick up the pace with his hand, Stephanie bunched a handful of his hair in her closed fist. She needed something to clutch before her knees gave out on her.

"Fuck, Paul," she muttered through labored breaths.

Stephanie was more than taken aback as he replaced his fingers with his mouth, using his lips and tongue to kiss the soft, throbbing tissue.

"Oh…God!"

If she hadn't been so loud, Paul probably wouldn't have remembered that they weren't alone up here. His eyes shot open instantly and he removed his mouth from her core. Stephanie tilted her head to the side as he made it to his feet and started to collect the discarded garments. When she spoke, her tone was unsatisfied and perplexed.

"Wha...why are…why are we stopping?"

He pecked her lips gently and gestured to the line of bedroom doors down the hallway. "Kids sleeping," he whispered into her mouth.

Stephanie's bloodshot eyes widened in horror. Suddenly she felt terribly dizzy again. Fucking wine! She leaned into Paul as she struggled to keep her balance, both of them stumbling to the door of the master bedroom they once shared.

They slipped inside hastily. Paul clicked the door shut behind them and turned around in time to catch Stephanie who virtually sprinted into his embrace, flinging her arms around his neck. She raked her fingers through his moist blonde strands as their lips again joined in a heated kiss. Paul ran his fingertips along the backs of her thighs before squeezing her bare ass.

Continuing up her spine, his hands searched for and found the clasp of her white, lacy bra. He undid it effortlessly, sending the scrap of lingerie falling to the floor. Without delay, Stephanie pressed her body against Paul's. She relished in the sensation created by her naked skin against his. Each nerve in her body was tingling in anticipation. She longed for him to touch her – everywhere and in every way.

Paul drew his mouth away from hers, but made sure to leave her with a tender peck before doing so. Stephanie planted a hand firmly on each of his shoulders as he lowered himself to his knees. He cupped one breast in his palm and she hissed in satisfaction when his lips covered her erect nipple. With his free hand, Paul began to knead the other one, flicking that nipple with his thumb.

"Ohhhhh….baby," she mumbled, tossing her head back briskly.

Her grip on his upper back intensified. She dug her nails into his perspiring skin as if her life depended on it. Stephanie wouldn't have been stunned if she was breaking skin because she just couldn't contain the feelings brewing inside her right now. The fiery need between her inner thighs was eating her alive. She couldn't do this. Not for much longer. She needed to feel him surrounded by her contracting walls.

Now.

She removed an out-of-breath Paul from her body. Briefly, she dipped her hands below the waistband of his pants as he stood up. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them before. That was to be expected though. He was drunk and lustful. Just like her. They were...drunk. They were going to have sex…while drunk. Well shit. Stephanie mentally slapped herself before she could start to over think things. She did that too often – let her brain get the best of her. Being with Paul was so simple. It was natural.

Forcefully, she pushed the trousers down his hard thighs, not once averting his thirsty stare. She freed his length from his boxers, which were soon bunching around his ankles. He stepped out of them and carefully backed Stephanie to the edge of the mattress. The cotton sheets were cold as ice against her bare body. A light shiver travelled down her spine. Ever hair on her skin was standing tall. Paul lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, and then trail it along her defined jaw. Their quiet breaths were the only sound audible in the room. In her blue orbs, he searched for some sign of hesitancy or regret, but nothing of that sort was discernible. Sue him for thinking this way, but the woman looked pretty damn happy.

"Don't be afraid," Stephanie murmured. She placed her left hand over her heart so that Paul could see the diamond he put on her finger only hours prior. Her lips were upturned into that ridiculous yet endearing grin that could only be inspired by alcohol. "I'm yours tonight."

With those words echoing in his mind, Paul willfully thrust inside of her and lost himself in what could quite possibly be his own demise.


	12. The Dating Game

So I finally updated this story, and I'd like to dedicate this chapter to TeamSheikie, since she requested it and I kept putting it off. I'll try not to abuse this fic as much as I have! Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy. :)

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**Jason's POV**

I watch.

I watch them all in sheer silence, my eyes prudently tracking and analyzing each movement they make, but in a way so discreet that no one notices. First, my gaze migrates to the little blonde one, her light locks pulled into a tidy braid and her skin pale as it always is. I note that she's wearing that same pink jacket she wore last week. The one with the long sleeves that she only zips about halfway shut. I briefly wonder why that is, but then ultimately decide I don't care. The child sits at the table with not a word to say and not a motion to make – other than lifting the occasional spoonful of cereal to her mouth, of course. Her expression is more times than not unreadable. She prefers to keep to herself. Now is no exception, and in this case, silence is golden.

I next shift my focus to the brunette, the most tolerable of the three. Astoundingly, the sight of her has never made me sick to my stomach. She resembles her mother far too much, and it's for that reason that I shamelessly allow my stare to wander over her body, taking in every curve she has to offer to the naked eye. The long, brown hair…the ocean blue orbs…the atypical obedience…she's the ideal daughter. In fact, I like to think that she _is_ my daughter, and sometimes when I lie awake at night, I surrender my mind to thoughts of how our perfect family would be. I visualize a huge portrait surrounded by a remarkable, golden frame. It hangs marvelously above a striking fireplace, where the crackling flames illuminate the low lit room. The portrait itself though is what captures every visitor's attention. We're all smiling. We're smiling because we're happy, and we're happy because we all love one another. My arm is possessively wrapped around Stephanie's shoulders, holding her close to show that she belongs to me. She's mine, and I want everyone to know. The tolerable, brunette daughter stands in front of us, her head fitting conveniently in the window that our shoulders create. She's grateful for our marriage, relieved to finally have a set of parents she can cherish and call her own. The tiniest of smirks now decorates my face. And so that is our family, just the three of us. Not a flaw is present, and the day that my vision becomes a reality can't arrive any sooner.

"What is he doing here?"

I snap my head around just in time to see the middle daughter closing the gap between herself and her mother. She stomps across the tile radically as she often does, her hands clenched into taut fists. She hates that I'm here, and quite frankly…I love it. I'll stick around every second of every day if it means getting under the little brat's skin. I suppress a triumphant smirk as she abruptly draws to a halt, her features prevalent with ire. In response to the behavior, Stephanie bites down on her bottom lip, grazing over it with the ridges of her teeth. I can sense that she's nervous. The last thing she wants to do is cross me, but truthfully, I'm not even the slightest bit angered, because we both know that her daughter is irrelevant. Regardless, she sends me an apologetic glance before she wordlessly reprimands the child.

The girl's not worth it, I always tell myself. She's insignificant, I tell myself. She'll be gone in due time, I tell myself.

So I lean against the countertop and wear a carefree smile. I remain quiet because like I said, silence is golden. Plus, I know I have nothing to fear. Twelve years of age and a lifetime worth of attitude serve as no match for me. It's only a matter of time before Stephanie starts seeing sensibly and tosses the little horror out onto the streets…and even if I have to intervene to make that happen, so be it.

"Have you heard from Dad yet?" the nuisance ponders, her tone short and snappy.

Her words are just enough to put me at an edge, but not enough to send me toppling over. Every time one of these kids brings up their father, my blood boils, my stomach twists, and the sudden urge to punish arises. I'm reminded of the sickening truth that _he_ has been inside of her. He's seen all of her, touched all of her, and loved all of her. They shared a life together, and that's not such a trivial detail, despite the bullshit Stephanie tries to toss my way. These children are living, breathing proof of that. When I look at the blonde ones, I can't help but see _him_, and I feel that it's necessary to eliminate them from the picture.

"Not yet," replies my fiancée.

"But it's already been five days," Murphy all but whines. "No visit, no phone call, no text, no nothing…"

I restrain myself from telling her that her father doesn't care. Always be the good guy, I advise myself.

"Honey," Stephanie interjects. I feel that she should be calling me that name, but of course, she's not. It's the brat she's addressing. She briefly looks over in my direction, interprets my stare, and sighs quietly. It's so silent because she doesn't want anyone to notice, but I notice. I always notice. "We'll talk about this some other time, Murph. I'm sure your father's fine."

"But _how_ can you be sure? What if something happened to him?" she questions frantically. "Have _you_ talked to him recently? I mean, isn't it _your _fault he left to begin with?"

"Murphy…that's enough…"

"NO! You will listen to me for once, Mother. I try to keep quiet most of the time because I'm aware that I'm not a nice person, but you _will_ hear me out this time." She pauses, and I mentally shake my head in disapproval seeing that Stephanie pipes down rather than disciplining her daughter like she should. But a part of me is glad that she didn't, for I'm fairly intrigued to hear what the twerp has to say. "I am sick and tired of this family. I'm tired of someone always running off, and I'm tired of all this pretending. One minute, it feels like we're back to being a family, and the next, you and Dad are screaming at each other for whatever reason. Just decide how you feel about each other, and decide quickly please, because us kids are the ones who suffer. It isn't fair that we have to live like this because our parents can't act like adults." A couple seconds of uneasy silence. "Oh, and a few nights ago…you know, the night that Dad stayed over?" My ears are suddenly more alert now, and I can tell Stephanie is trying so hard not to look at me, despite the holes I'm burning through her with my stare. "I just thought you should know that other people do live in this house, and we do hear what goes on, thank you very much. And um, yeah…that's all."

So everyone falls into this stunned silence, because the ball's in Stephanie's court and we're waiting for her to make a move.

"Girls, go…go get ready for school. I…I need to take care of something."

And with that being said, she scurries out of the kitchen, tail figuratively lodged between her legs, and she doesn't even bother to look back as she does so.

I fold my arms over my chest and clench my teeth the slightest bit, trying to grasp what I can out of what just occurred. Murphy's heated rant was completely expected, her accusations anticipated even. That's how she is, and it's not at all shocking that she chose now to make a scene while I'm present. She enjoys stirring trouble, that's what she does. But it was Stephanie's reaction – her tone – that leaves me on edge. Guilt. Secrets. Deceit. I sensed all of it. I'm no fool. I know that Stephanie has nothing to take care of at the moment. She slurred her words, and when she slurs her words, she's flat out lying. This leads me to believe only one thing. Something has unquestionably taken place between my fiancée and her ex-husband, and I swear to find out what it is.

And when I do, there will be hell to pay.

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**Paul's POV**

I stare at my untouched plate of food like it's the most fascinating thing on the planet…because for the time being, it is. So is the cream colored tablecloth. And the silverware which I have yet to pick up. Really, anything that isn't this strange woman sitting across from me.

She's not strange in the sense that she's creepy or has some irking trait. She's strange in the sense that she's a stranger. I don't know her, and more importantly, I have no desire to get to know her. In fact, when I do briefly allow my eyes to travel upward to her face, I can't help but feel like this whole outing is a sin. I have kids – kids who need me now more than ever because their mother can't seem to sort out her shit. Their lives are slowly but surely crumbling to pieces, and I need to be there for them. A subtle scowl crosses my face. It all goes back to that twisted fiancé. His inexplicable influence over her is the root of where all issues seem to begin and end.

But now my mind is infected with thoughts of Stephanie. The woman is like a drug, and I'm the thirsty but vulnerable addict. I can never seem to get enough, despite being aware of the lethal consequences. I know she's bad for me and I desperately want to let her go…to give her up for good, but whenever I try, I undergo the same effects that any addict would: withdrawals. Cutting her out of my life entirely is not an option. I can't deny that I need her in some way, shape, or form. Whether that means being a friend, simply an acquaintance, or even an enemy, then so be it. That status is always changing, but the one truth that can't be amended is that she's the mother of my kids.

She's also the reason I abruptly walked out on said kids just four days ago. We were stupid and reckless that night. We drank too much, and…well, to be blatant, we fucked. I was so disoriented when I woke the next morning though. I couldn't differentiate left from right, so I surely couldn't remember if something had happened between us…but I did have my suspicions. And those uncertainties were enough to make me flee the scene before I would have to confront Stephanie herself. So I gathered my belongings, left, and unsuccessfully persuaded myself that all events of the previous night would be forgotten.

I have contacted neither she nor the kids since. Why, one might ask?

Maybe it's because I'm more of a coward than I'd like to admit.

"So Sean tells me that you're also a professional wrestler?"

My head snaps up inadvertently. Shit, and now this woman's looking at me all genuinely sweet with those teal orbs I've been avoiding all night. She actually is rather pretty, I can't lie. She's tall, toned, blonde, and her eyes are a rare hue that isn't blue, but not quite green either. She seems pretty chill personality-wise, too – definitely not the type I would expect Sean Waltman of all people to set me up with. She's not a prostitute, not a stripper, not…anything like that. Just a lawyer whose name is…is…_Anna_? Right, I'm pretty sure it's Anna.

And looking at Anna now, I start to feel relatively guilty. She's only trying to ease some of the tension here, and I've said all but two words to her up until now.

"Um, sorry, could you repeat that?" I request, not recalling what she asked.

"Sean said you wrestle?" She twirls a pale blonde strand around her finger, a dead giveaway that she's anxious. But I don't blame her, given my behavior thus far. I apprehensively shift in my seat and clear my throat.

"Used to," I reply. "But I hung up the boots for good when my kids were younger."

"Oh, yeah, Sean mentioned something about kids. Do you have boys or girls?"

"Three girls," I chuckle, rolling my eyes theatrically. For a moment, I wonder what else Sean mentioned to her, but I quickly dismiss that thought. "They're fourteen, twelve, and ten, so…it's safe to say they're a handful."

"I can imagine," Anna agrees. She flashes me a smile that makes me feel…happy, and truthfully, I'm not quite sure how to react to this happiness. I thought only my children could elicit that emotion out of me these days, but I guess I was wrong. And for once, I'm glad to be wrong. "You know, I've _always_ wanted kids. I just never really had the chance to settle down and meet someone, with work and everything cluttering my schedule."

"Ha, I know all about gruesome schedules," I mutter.

She laughs and says, "Well, I'd love to meet them sometime."

Sometime. It's a vague word and for that, I'm relieved. Because if she asked to meet them tomorrow, or even next week, I know I wouldn't be ready for that. A few months from now though, in the right environment? Sure.

"Yeah, that would be cool."

And the conversation only picks up from there. Anna tells me about her family, growing up in New York City, and the various cases that she's won throughout her career. I'm somewhat surprised to find myself sitting on the edge of my seat, leaning just a bit closer to her with each word that falls from her lips. I then tell her about life on the road, how I got into wrestling, and the switch over to the corporate scene. She attentively listens, and she actually seems intrigued by what I'm saying. Hours and hours pass. People come and go. We're not those people. We stay, and we're still talking and enjoying ourselves. She reminds me what it's like to feel relevant. She reminds me what it's like to not feel lonely.

She reminds me of Stephanie.

Suddenly, it all becomes clear. Take away the hair, the eyes, the voice…just the appearance overall, and she's Stephanie. Well, the Stephanie I fell in love with. She's timid at first, but once you break down that initial wall, she has so much to say, but she also has an equal passion for listening, too. She's not distant though. She's right here and I'm certain of that, unlike the times when I was with Steph and felt she was constantly slipping away from me.

That brings me to where we are now, walking out of the restaurant together, my hand on the small of her back.

"What do you say we head back to my place?"

I'm startled by the words I hear, mostly because they weren't said by her. They were said by me, and I have no idea what inspired them to be said. Perhaps it's a combination of things. Alcohol isn't one of them this time, thank God. I like Anna. I like her a lot more than I would have imagined. I also like this newfound feeling of not being lonely.

So I smile when she simply responds, "I'd like that."

That's when I realize this isn't a sin. This is my life, and I'm not doing anything wrong. If Stephanie has the right to be happy with someone else, then so do I.

And if the happiness is only temporary, the least I can do is try to hold onto it. Just for a little while…


	13. Morning After

Hey, look, I updated again! I wanted to get back into the swing of writing this, because I really want to move this story along, rather than keep it at a standstill for months on end…like I have been. I guess I'll dedicate this to anyone who loathes Jason since he won't be making an appearance. This chapter isn't too lengthy, and as always, I'm not a big fan of my first person writing style, but bleh, I posted anyways. Enjoy. :)

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**Paul's POV **

It's weird waking up to find that there's someone next to me.

It's weird that we're dressed in nothing but the white bed sheets that stick to the lingering perspiration on our skin. It's weird that needless articles of clothing decorate the beige carpet floor. It's weird that the strong stench of alcohol doesn't saturate the air. I'm lying here with a thousand thoughts running through my head, regret not being one of them, and it's...weird.

I trail my fingertips along the mattress torpidly, stroking the material in such concentration that it seems as if I doubt its mere existence. For a few seconds, I think I actually do. My brain tinkers and toys with the notion that this could all be a dream. Perhaps my eyes are showing me things that aren't really there, and my brain just goes with it. So I blink once. Twice, even. But all remains as it was before, the scene still scarred with evidence of the intimate night prior.

My eyes automatically dart towards the figure beside me. She's laying face down, the bed sheets secreting all of her body except her tanned upper back. Her face is buried in the pillows, and her tousled blonde strands are sprawled anywhere and everywhere. She looks rather…at peace. I extend my hand with intentions of caressing her shoulder, just to see if she'll stir out of her slumber, but I'm overtaken by instinct and draw it back at once. Swift, sudden images of last night deluge my brain. They come quickly and fade even quicker, but I know all too well that this is only the beginning. I'm familiar with the routine. It won't be long before the memories are permanently instilled in my brain and start to permeate through the walls of my mind on a regular basis. I'm almost certain there's already a spot reserved for them right next to the ones of Stephanie. How convenient, I think to myself cynically.

I force myself to focus on Anna again. After all, this is the present, not the past. So I permit my stare to devour this woman as I dwell. I first recall my hands on her body, hers all over mine, and we're touching each other so carelessly…so thoughtlessly. It was almost as if we had waited forever to feel one another, and now that the moment had finally arrived, nothing could pacify that desire. I needed her. Not _her_ specifically, but I needed someone. I remember kissing her so hard that it hurt, but I also remember neither one of us caring. I now lift my hand to my face and tenderly touch my lower lip to find that it's swollen. Good. It's concrete proof that I had a good time. I was able to successfully lose myself in someone and for one night, I wasn't an ex-husband, or a celebrity, or even a father. I was just a man.

"Hi there."

The weary voice startles me the slightest bit, and I notice her eyelids twitch as they struggle to open entirely. She's propped up on her forearms, her head raised and her hair a wild mess. I continue to stare while her lips mold into a sincere smile. Only then do I realize it's my turn to speak. Apprehensively, I clear my throat.

"Hey," I manage to say, flashing her a small smile of my own.

"Sleep well?" she asks, and I can tell her inquiry is inspired by the unease suspended between us.

"I actually did, yeah. How about you?"

"I slept great. I don't think I feel like moving ever," Anna chuckles. I laugh, too, but the thought of her staying here forever actually causes my shoulders to tense up. This bed is no eternal home for her, and I can only hope she knows that. Commitment is one thing I did not sign up for. I can't go down that road anymore. "I wish I could be this careless all the time," she begins abruptly. "But unfortunately, it's back to work tomorrow…back to the real world..."

Her voice trails off almost gravely, and I feel like there's more to Anna than she lets on. Just like there's more to me than I've made apparent thus far. Because at the end of the day, we're just two strangers living two separate lives, despite our paths happening to temporarily cross. At least, I _think_ the intersection is provisional. I mean, I would hope so…

"Are you alright?" I ponder. I don't know why I ask that.

She raises her eyebrows while the faintest of smirks adorns her drained features.

"I think the better question would be are _you_ alright, Paul?" Her tone is accusing and unyielding. I muster the ideal strength to maneuver myself into a sitting-up position and scrunch my face in confusion. My limbs are sore and I can feel a thumping headache starting to arise, but both of those issues are irrelevant for the time being.

I reach up to scratch the stubble on my chin before responding.

"Why would you think otherwise?"

"Last night…" She starts to speak, but allows her voice to trail off into fickle silence. And those two words are just enough to put me back at square one – back to feeling like I've just committed some reprehensible sin, and I'm now awaiting my punishment. It was the _way_ she said those two words that kills me the most though. _Last night. _Like it was a mistake. Just another point to be added to her list of regrets. Well, does she regret this? Do I? Maybe I'm just overreacting. Maybe my conscience is getting the better of me. Frowning vaguely, I fill my lungs with a much needed heap of oxygen. I'm actually on the verge of saying something, but I see that she's parting her lips, so I opt to keep my thoughts at bay. "Last night…you called me…Stephanie."

"I…called…you…"

I'm compelled to say words – even if they're staggered and unintelligible – because if there's nothing coming out of my mouth, chaos is bound to ensue in my thoughts, like it's about to right now. Essentially, it had been smooth sailing up until this point. But…_Stephanie_. A shiver shoots down my spine upon visualizing her face in my head. Her blue orbs…they burn holes right through me. Her stare is scolding and evident with betray, as if she knows what I've done and feels that I've been unfaithful to _her_. I shut my eyes, hopeful that the image of her will fade into nothingness. It doesn't. This woman consumes me in every way feasible, in every little thing I do, and I'm certain I've reached my breaking point.

"Paul, are you okay?" Anna asks, and I feel her chilled fingertips brush over my shoulder while my face remains buried in my palms. I briskly pull away from her touch, my head snapping up at once. I don't want her touching me anymore. I don't want anyone touching me like that anymore. Ever. "Look, if you need to talk – I mean, I know we only just met – but I'm here for you. You've obviously been through a lot, and sometimes having someone to listen to you makes some of the pain go away. Do you want to talk?"

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm not in pain," I all but snap. My short, surly tone is completely uncalled for, and it causes her to inch away from me in fear, but I can't help it.

A momentary silence washes over us.

"Then who's Stephanie?"

So Anna dares to ask the lethal question, and I cringe as the name drops from her lips. But as the inquiry loiters around in my thoughts for a little while longer, I realize that I can't provide anyone with an answer until I provide myself with one.

Who exactly is Stephanie McMahon?

The answer should be simple, really. She's a tall, mischievous brunette with eyes bluer than the sky and legs that go on for days. She's a woman who carries herself about with the confidence that she truly lacks. She's insecure and broken, but she puts up an unscathed forefront. A mask, so to speak. She smiles because that's what mouths are for, but does that necessarily mean she's happy? Her eyes are open and her chest rises and falls to prove she's breathing, but is she really living? She's a person that can sit in a room for hours and in spite of her striking appearance, can go about unnoticed because that's how distant she's become from it all. It's like she's not even there anymore. She's merely the phantom of what used to be a lively person. How ironic is that for me though? The woman is practically invisible, but to me, she's everywhere.

It suddenly dawns on me that Anna is still here in the bed with me, and she's waiting for me to reply. I crack my knuckles a few times, because that's what I do when I'm nervous. Stephanie chews her lower lip…I crack my knuckles. It's what we do. We love each other…we hate each other. That's also what we do. But I disregard that woman entirely and soften my stare at the one beside me.

"Stephanie is…no one of importance."


	14. Our Favorite Charade

I...updated...again. This is starting to weird even me out lol. I guess I've just had the writing bug lately, and Broken Lives keeps nagging me. (It's only a matter of time before some of the real drama starts to unfold, I know I keep saying that, but bear with me.) I do jump ahead in time in this chapter, as I also note below, but it's nothing major. This one is for Brit7000 - thanks for the Vince interview...and all the other interviews you send me! So to Brit and everyone else who reads, hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

One Week Later

"You know, I really shouldn't be doing you _any _favors."

Leaning in closer to the vast mirror, I apply another dense coat of mascara to my lashes until I'm somewhat satisfied with the result. I wrinkle my brow in disapproval at first, but ultimately decide that I'll never be fully satisfied and leave it as is. Whatever. This will just have to do. I mean, I'm sure nobody will notice the swollen, lurid bags just beneath my already bloodshot eyes. Besides, there's only so much that I can do to prepare on such short notice.

"I know, I know…but I wasn't planning on my parents just showing up out of nowhere." There's a slight pause, followed by a repentant sigh. "Steph, don't think of it as doing _me_ a favor. Just…just think of it as doing my mom a favor, okay?"

"I still can't believe you refuse to tell her the truth. Don't you think she has a right to know?"

"You know that would break her fragile, little heart, Steph. You _know _that," he reiterates. His unyielding facial features alleviate, and I'm more than taken aback when he grasps my hand in his much larger one, causing my fingers to vaguely tremble. "Please, Stephanie?"

Forcefully, I yank my hand away from his and take a few gradual steps backward, fearful of the reactions he may or may not elicit. My heart is already starting to feel things without my brain's consent, and it's all due to those beseeching, hazel orbs staring back at me. And the way he says my name…the way it rolls off of his tongue so effortlessly...

But then everything comes flooding back to me, and I snap out of this trance instantaneously. He's just toying with my emotions, I remind myself. He wants something that only I can give, so he's simply playing the good guy card until we reach a compromise.

As if the fight we had almost two weeks ago – the sex, as if all of it means nothing now.

"Look, Paul, after your little disappearing act not too long ago, I have every reason to say no…"

"But?"

I heave a sigh because he knows it's coming, and so do I.

"But I'm not going to say no," I validate. And before the last word even plunges from my lips, he's on the brink of enveloping me in his arms, luring me into that toxic embrace that makes me melt every time.

I don't let him though. I back away vigilantly and hold my hands out in front of me to ward him off. Paul accordingly tilts his head to one side, a look of utter bewilderment resonating in his gaze.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not the one you should be hugging, Paul," I begin in a tone that's so stern it astounds even me. He lowers his head guiltily, allowing his long blonde strands to shield his face like a curtain. The Paul I know would question what justification I have to call him out on _his_ parenting skills, because really, I have none. Still, he doesn't open that can of worms. He purely stands there, hands stuffed in his denim pockets and that renowned look of remorse plaguing what I can see of his face. But something peculiar washes over me, and I settle on labeling it as empathy. Acting solely on impulse, I close the gap between us and bring my hand up to his face. I gently situate it on the side of his cheek, giving his eyes no choice but to connect with mine. "Hey," I hush, trying not to wince as I take not of the sorrow in his stare that's real and apparent. "They'll forgive you, Paul. I'm sure of it. They love you, and you're not…you're not me. You're a good daddy, and I guess now would be the appropriate time for me to apologize about that comment I made stating otherwise. Sometimes I say things that are stupid, untrue, and uncalled for, but you know that better than anyone. Let's just get through tonight, okay?"

He nods and smiles meekly. "Thanks for that, Steph, and yeah, good plan. I put the family photos out around the house, by the way."

I consume his face with my stare for a long, hard moment, dwelling on the fact that what we have is so twisted and so wrong, but also that I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Nights like these are the ones I live for – nights where we get to pretend we're married and pretend we're happy, because pretending is all we've got anymore. We mean well though, we really do. Paul's aging mother suffers from dementia and recalls nothing of our divorce. She would rant and rave relentlessly about how we were meant for each other and how our love was undying, even long after we were separated. In her eyes, we _are _married, and we _are_ happy.

No one has the heart to inform her otherwise.

As my gaze departs to the floor, the doorbell echoes throughout the house almost on cue. I look at Paul, and Paul looks at me.

"Let's get this show on the road…honey," I joke, my dry tone in desperate need of some enthusiasm.

"Ready or not, here they come." My shoulders relax a tad, and I chuckle seeing that his mood emulates mine precisely. I rather enjoy putting on this little show, like I said, but I also dread it. I dread it because I know it will come to an end eventually, and tomorrow everything will be normal again. We'll fight, we'll make up, we'll play our little games, hurt each along the way, and no matter what we do, we'll still be broken. We'll scream, we'll lie, maybe we'll fuck, and from there, it's just a vicious cycle. Rinse, lather, repeat. That's why my heart aches a bit as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the always familiar pair of rings. "Here," he says simply, releasing one into my palm.

"Yours tonight, right?"

We both laugh, not because it's genuinely funny, but because this is the kind of perverse inside joke that appeals to our similar senses of humor. So I slip my ring on while he slips on his, and in the blink of an eye, we're husband and wife again. I'm his, he's mine, and that's that…

* * *

**Murphy's POV**

My stomach twists into taut knots as my gaze settles on them yet again.

They're sitting on the couch, just the two of them. Of course, my grandparents and siblings are in the room as well, but my parents are the only ones who capture my attention this evening. I look on in utter repugnance as they smile those fake smiles and laugh those fake laughs. Mom's snuggled into Dad's side ever so comfortably, and Dad's arm is draped around Mom's shoulders lovingly…or _almost_ lovingly, should I say. Every now and then, they'll look at each other, communicating in that secret, silent language that only adults can construe, and for a moment, I'll wonder what they're saying to one another. It's probably for the best that I don't know though. More than likely, it's just some unspoken acknowledgement to see if they're still on the same page with their little charade.

I feel even sicker – if that's possible – as she intertwines her fingers with his, and then they rest their joined hands in Dad's lap, like it's just some trivial, affectionate thing they do all the time. I now regret stuffing my face during dinner because said meal is about to make an appearance at any given moment. When I advised Dad to get her back, this was most definitely not what I had in mind. I could really care less who gets who back anymore. Mom's an oblivious, mindless bitch, and I've finally accepted the truth that Dad is no better. He's passive and evades confrontation just as she does.

You would think with all of these similarities in play, the pair of them would be capable of pulling their shit together.

"Do you know what you two need?" Grandma prompts out of nowhere. My eyes dart in her direction, and just seeing the look of sincerity on her face is enough to make my lips yield to a dismal frown. She honestly doesn't deserve this. "You two need to take a vacation – just the two of you – to get away from it all and simply enjoy each other's company."

Snort.

I jolt my head around frantically to track the source of the noise, but everyone's already glaring back at me.

"Sorry," I mutter to no one in particular. The insignificant mishap is overlooked, and the conversation resumes within seconds.

"So what do you say, Paul? Stephanie? The girls can come and stay with us for a weekend. You could really use the break."

This is _the_ absolute worst idea I have heard in my entire life, and a part of me is trying so very hard to refrain from laughing. My ribs are legitimately sore from the resistance as I fail to hide my smirk with my sleeve. The only person that would loathe this initiative more than Mom, Dad, and I combined would have to be Jason. At the thought of him, I scowl. Then I remember that he's in California – as he has been for over a week – and some of my wrath subsides. But only some. The jackass practically stormed out after the suggestive, sexual implications I tossed out there during my heated rant. I guess his fiancée's infidelity was beyond fathomable and clearly way too much to handle. The best part was that Mom didn't deny anything, and she didn't even chase after him with that expression of chaste cluelessness like she often does.

I never thought I would say this, but that was one of the smartest things she's done in what seems like forever.

"Oh, Patricia, that's so sweet of you, but…but Paul and I are so busy at the office. I don't think we'd be able to work everything out," she says, chewing on her bottom lip before she can even get the last word out. Grandma looks a little lost, and Grandpa just sits back in silence as always. Smart man, he is. He reminds me of Vaughn in that sense. And while she's prevalent in my thoughts, I temporarily glance over to where my little sister is seated on the floor. She's palpably disinterested, and I'm sure that like me, she longs to be anywhere but here.

"Yeah, Steph's right," Dad begins, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug. "Things have been so hectic lately, and I don't think either of us can afford to take any time off."

"Bullshit," I mouth in Aurora's direction. Her shoulders shake as a result of subtle laughter, and she adds a sour eye roll to highlight her disgust.

"Are you sure? You wouldn't be able to work it out with your dad, Stephanie? Not even for a few days?"

"Probably not," she replies reluctantly. Her wedding ring catches the light on an angle that makes it nearly blinding as she turns to face Dad. "What do you think, baby?"

Baby.

_Baby._

I notably cringe, throw up in my mouth, and sense a shiver shoot down my spine. Keep in mind that all of this happens concurrently. _Baby_. It's almost as bad as when she addresses Jason that way. Almost. I'm not quite sure what to think or what to say, but decide it's for the best that I keep my mouth shut completely.

"That crazy ass old man will give us vacation time when hell freezes over, Ma," Dad jokes.

Everyone laughs. They laugh, and they laugh, and they laugh.

I don't laugh.

I simply rise from the floor and sprint towards the stairs without looking back, because I'm not sure I can handle another second of this. As much as I like to voice my abhorrence and repulsion of these people, I in fact do have a heart – a heart that won't be holding up for much longer if life continues this way. A lone tear rolls down my cheek and is followed by many more as I struggle to remember what it's like to have a real family.

* * *

**Paul's POV**

"Well that was…"

"Incredibly awkward?" I presume.

"Yeah," Stephanie snickers. Unhurriedly, she starts to draw back the sheets and comforter of the bed. That used to be our bed, I remind myself. It could be ours again, an unidentified voice in my head chimes in. I silence that voice by scrunching my facial features in some bizarre fashion, which is most likely why Stephanie glares at me in blatant confusion. "Are you just going to stand there all night making weird faces, or are you going to get in bed?"

"Right," I reply, twisting the gold band around my finger anxiously. Why am I anxious? I shouldn't be anxious. But I am, and maybe it's because she's starting to slide the thin black straps of her dress down her shoulders, her tongue poking through her teeth tauntingly. Her eyes are dark, but it's not because her pupils are dilated. I take a cautious step backwards, unaware of where my footing may lead me, but all I know is that I need to get out of here. "I'll just be heading off to the guest bedroom, but you don't need to escort me. I already know the way, ha."

"Don't go," she whispers, carelessly allowing the dress to drop to the floor in a heap. She steps out of the damn thing and approaches me slyly, one foot in front of the other. I'm glad one of us remembers how to walk, because my legs are failing me now more than ever. "Stay with me, Paul."

"No."

Stephanie shuts the door behind me, and I take note of the fact that she doesn't lock it. She switches the lights off, but we're not isolated in sheer darkness. The low light of the moon illuminates the room through a break in the curtains, and my eyes migrate to her body. They absorb her pale but always flawless skin, her delicious curves, and the black lace safeguarding her in all the right places.

She's now right in front of me, one hand on my chest, the other on her hip.

"You can't sleep in the guest bedroom."

"Why is that?"

"Let's say your mom wakes up in the middle of the night and somehow ends up in there. You don't want her to think there's trouble in paradise, do you?" She clicks her tongue, and I curse her under my breath for making a valid point. "You know I'm right."

"Like you would ever let me believe otherwise," I retort. And so she looks at me with those insistent blue orbs, and I keep telling myself not to give in. I've been working so hard to move on from this woman. I've been going on dates more frequently, and I've really been making an effort. If we were drunk, maybe, just maybe I would say yes, because then I could blame it on the alcohol when I woke. But neither one of us has sipped even the tiniest drop of anything this evening, so whatever occurs is exclusively on us. "I'm sorry, Steph. I don't know what you're trying to do or initiate here, but I'm not interested. Not anymore."

I turn around and reach for the doorknob, but she grasps my wrist between her fingers to prevent me from doing so. Her grip on me is so tight, so fierce that I'm forced to snap my head back around and face her.

"Wait."

"What don't you understand when I say that I'm not interested, huh?" I scowl. Her expression significantly softens as she parts her lips to speak.

"I don't want us to have sex," she clarifies first and foremost. Part of me relaxes, part of me is disappointed. The disappointed part happens to be the same part of me that craves a good challenge. "I suppose you can leave now, if you feel so inclined, but I'd really like you to stay and hear what I have to say."

"I'm listening."

"Thank you," Stephanie begins. "Look, I know it's hard to ignore what happened between us a little over a week ago, but let's disregard that for the time being. What's done is done, right? All I want is for you to stay with me, just this one night. No sex. I'll even go put some clothes on, if that makes you more comfortable?"

There's a pause before I respond.

"Is this because your fiancé's on the other side of the country?"

"Not at all," she assures me. The answer should be classified as bullshit, but her tone contradicts that. She's sincere…genuine perhaps. I think she's being honest.

"Then why?"

She moves her hand to my cheek where her fingers burn my skin.

"Because no one holds me like you do."

So fast-forward just a wee bit, and because I'm a vulnerable sucker, we're lying in bed together like some happily married couple. I revel in the feel of her back pressed into my chest. It provides me with a warm sensation I haven't felt in a while, and I have to admit that I miss it. I miss _this._ My arms naturally tighten around her waist, but only a little, and I drop a gentle kiss in her hair. I breathe in her scent. And it's not just a sniff, but I inhale it like it's a drug – like it's the very drug my life depends on.

"Remind me why we hate each other again?" she whispers.

At the sound of her voice, I shut my eyes, still my movements, and steady my breathing. She probably draws the conclusion that I've dozed off, and I'm more than okay with that. She was baiting me into one discussion that I have no desire to have, not right now and maybe not ever. It's actually not long before she surrenders herself to some shuteye of her own. But I, on the other hand, don't sleep much at all tonight. I lie wide awake and savor every moment that she's in my arms, for I don't know how many more moments we'll have like this…


End file.
